Once there lived two sisters twelve years apart in age. They were tall blue-eyed beasties with, more often than not, dirty feet and large smiles. Their enormous grins were both a blessing and a curse, for while their pearly chompers drew people toward them, they also sometimes revealed that they had recently been eating spinach, or pulled pork, or pineapples. This was a small burden, and the sisters rose above it gracefully.
In fact, one afternoon, at an R Picnic,
(Where all the foods began with the letter R), the sisters rose so high above the smattering of comments regarding a smidge of radicchio here and a morsel of romaine stuck there, that they fully levitated off the red picnic blanket and shot straight up into the ether.
The older sister gazed at the picnic attendees—a hodge-podge of local eccentrics, a few wing nuts, and a judge and doula for good measure- as they sank into the distance, and she sighed, “Mad Pierre was on the absolute verge of serving me some of his roasted rabbit. Wonder if they’ll save us some.”
The younger sister wondered if they would ever be in any condition to consume gamey carbons again, for their celestial ascent had begun to quicken headily. First their shoes dissolved, in a slightly ticklish, caressing fashion. Then their hair rolled out of the tight braids they had put them in before preparing ratatouille that morning. The younger one giggled, “I swear, my hair just sighed!”
It wasn’t just sighing, it was cooing and purring, charmed by the comets and galaxies flying by with an electric hiss. The younger on laughed, a fat mango slice of a chuckle, and somersaulted seven times with panache. The older one bent herself into a pretzel and cart wheeled blissfully. Below their slap happy smiles the world was a glowing green kiwi of life spinning slowly without much rhyme or reason. The sisters paused in their cosmic calisthenics to peer down at their earthly domain.
“What a weird world, Sissy,” squeaked the little one, for she was wise and astute. They simultaneously developed lumps in their throats contemplating the mysterious joys and tragedies of human life. From way up there they couldn’t help but notice how everything, every drop of sweat on a Haitain’s brow, every bus stop littered with wrappers of Atomic Fire Balls, every sigh of every tree, and every mothers’ warm dry palm are inexorably connected for all time. The sisters saw all this together and joined hands with a squeeze.
“There’s so much we can do, “ said the young one, who saw how opportunities lapped at every door like ravenous lions.
“There’s so much we must do,” said the old one, who saw all the places love can fill in.
“Too bad we had to be swept up to this great height to see it all.”
“If only we had a little red fish to lead us home again.”
The young one was about to express her mistrust in any little red fish as an intergalactic vehicle when, through the starry darkness, a smiling sunfish swam steadily toward them. His fins were golden and, while he was no spring chicken, he was beautiful beyond compare.
“Oh,” said the little one.
“Hello,” said the tall one.
“Shall we?” inquired the water creature, slippery with suavity. Not too slippery, however, for his back fin made a perfect handhold for the big sister, while the little one held onto her shoulders.
“How did you know?” she whispered, as they began their exhilarating plummet to Earth.
“Oh, sis,” the big one squealed over the cry of the rushing wind, “You know it too. You get what you ask for.”
Earth was now a life- size playground for animals and oceans and gods and men. They could almost smell the seaweed, the popcorn, the sneaker feet, and the morning breath. It was good to be home again. The rest was like riding a bike down hill with no hands on a muggy night in July.
In fact, one afternoon, at an R Picnic,
(Where all the foods began with the letter R), the sisters rose so high above the smattering of comments regarding a smidge of radicchio here and a morsel of romaine stuck there, that they fully levitated off the red picnic blanket and shot straight up into the ether.
The older sister gazed at the picnic attendees—a hodge-podge of local eccentrics, a few wing nuts, and a judge and doula for good measure- as they sank into the distance, and she sighed, “Mad Pierre was on the absolute verge of serving me some of his roasted rabbit. Wonder if they’ll save us some.”
The younger sister wondered if they would ever be in any condition to consume gamey carbons again, for their celestial ascent had begun to quicken headily. First their shoes dissolved, in a slightly ticklish, caressing fashion. Then their hair rolled out of the tight braids they had put them in before preparing ratatouille that morning. The younger one giggled, “I swear, my hair just sighed!”
It wasn’t just sighing, it was cooing and purring, charmed by the comets and galaxies flying by with an electric hiss. The younger on laughed, a fat mango slice of a chuckle, and somersaulted seven times with panache. The older one bent herself into a pretzel and cart wheeled blissfully. Below their slap happy smiles the world was a glowing green kiwi of life spinning slowly without much rhyme or reason. The sisters paused in their cosmic calisthenics to peer down at their earthly domain.
“What a weird world, Sissy,” squeaked the little one, for she was wise and astute. They simultaneously developed lumps in their throats contemplating the mysterious joys and tragedies of human life. From way up there they couldn’t help but notice how everything, every drop of sweat on a Haitain’s brow, every bus stop littered with wrappers of Atomic Fire Balls, every sigh of every tree, and every mothers’ warm dry palm are inexorably connected for all time. The sisters saw all this together and joined hands with a squeeze.
“There’s so much we can do, “ said the young one, who saw how opportunities lapped at every door like ravenous lions.
“There’s so much we must do,” said the old one, who saw all the places love can fill in.
“Too bad we had to be swept up to this great height to see it all.”
“If only we had a little red fish to lead us home again.”
The young one was about to express her mistrust in any little red fish as an intergalactic vehicle when, through the starry darkness, a smiling sunfish swam steadily toward them. His fins were golden and, while he was no spring chicken, he was beautiful beyond compare.
“Oh,” said the little one.
“Hello,” said the tall one.
“Shall we?” inquired the water creature, slippery with suavity. Not too slippery, however, for his back fin made a perfect handhold for the big sister, while the little one held onto her shoulders.
“How did you know?” she whispered, as they began their exhilarating plummet to Earth.
“Oh, sis,” the big one squealed over the cry of the rushing wind, “You know it too. You get what you ask for.”
Earth was now a life- size playground for animals and oceans and gods and men. They could almost smell the seaweed, the popcorn, the sneaker feet, and the morning breath. It was good to be home again. The rest was like riding a bike down hill with no hands on a muggy night in July.
