One of the events I enjoy most in Second Life is the weekly Bardic Circle gathering in the Elf lands. (Come visit! All welcome. Every 7 p.m. Tuesday, SLT – that’s Pacific time in the U.S.) Teleport directly by clicking here.) We listen to and read poems and stories that are funny, sad, touching, and … well, any adjective would apply here. I look forward to it all week. I have the immense honor of being Elf Circle’s Poet Laureate this year, and I usually write something new every week. A number of you have asked me to post some of these stories and poems – so here we go. This is the first one.
I call it “Gelid’s Wish” because that is the name of the little wizard here. He got his name because of a Bardic Circle tradition. Every week, the hostess Sairi Matova asks five of those attending to offer one word of the Five-Word Challenge. Then we all try to write a poem or story using those five words for the next week’s gathering. Well, one week one of the words was . . . you guessed it . . . “gelid.” It means icy or extremely cold. Well, I couldn’t fit it into my story, so I gave the wizard that name – LOL!
by Bay Sweetwater
Gelid the wizard took a deep breath, then exhaled with a little puff as he studied the gleaming spaceport in front of him. The spaceport dock was suddenly pulsing with activity. Whole squadrons of spaceships took off one after the other into the cloudless summer sky. None of the spaceships would ever return, but that was as it should be. This was, after all, an intergalactic space colonization mission.
Gelid gazed after the trail of departing spaceships and admired their brilliant design: perfectly aerodynamic, fuel-free, propelled by the wind captured in a hundred threadlike wings. The wings, shaped as an umbrella, also served to protect the precious pod cargo carried below.
Amid the echo of the tumultuous launch, Gelid heard the nightingale sing its song of hope for the spaceships. The song made him wonder briefly if the ships would truly succeed in their dangerous mission. Would they really make it safely to their destinations in unknown worlds, drop the pods, and sprout whole new generations—who would then build spaceports themselves in those farflung, unimagined homelands?
But in his next breath, Gelid knew they would succeed. He was certain of it. For hadn’t he wished for safe hands—a mother’s hands—cradling those spaceships, wherever they may go in all the worlds of the universe?
And, as everyone knows, whatever you wish for when you blow upon a dandelion . . . and blow all the seedlings away in a single breath . . that wish always comes true.