Much of what you fail to see exists as tangibly as stone or wood. Indeed dragons and fairies and all magic that thunks in your mythologies are as real as the ache that throbs in your heart and bones. You simply need to capture the notion that there are more ways than one to open your eyes.
I live just south of Orange County New York, a county known for, among other things, its famed Black Dirt Region.
“The Black Dirt Region takes its name from the dark, extremely fertile soil left over from an ancient glacial lake bottom augmented by decades of past flooding of the Wallkill River. The 26,000 acres (10,400 ha) of muck left over is the largest concentration of such soil in the United States outside the Florida Everglades.“
For reasons I can’t explain, just fancy I guess, I started to think of reasons why that black dirt is so black, so fertile. Here’s what I discovered. Mind you, I tend to stroll the streets of wonder and merriment.
Orange County, New York
Black as ash, you might say,
and the truth wouldn’t be far from ya.
See, that dirt, as soft as night,
and just as dark, years past,
was blasted by dragon fire.
Anything burdened with that heat
blackens as deep as fear
and that flame etches in a magic
sparking most anything to sprout.
Onions grow as big as a fat man’s head.
Tomatoes, by God, are so juicy
Paul Bunyan’s hanky couldn’t wipe
all the squirt from your chin.
But I heard rumors that if ya find some way
to scrape a poem from a sheet of paper
and plant that ink in that dire soil
then dragons, a small as mice,
will pop-up like weeds,
spitting flame and myth,
turning everything real into dreams,
which, perhaps, are realer still.