For all of you who are concerned about the health of my falcon, I thank you. I am pleased to report that he is getting better. It seems that his careful gliding down to earth did him some good. The dizziness, the sudden soaring to unusual heights, the apparent bird’s eye view of what may be formulating in the heavens above, affected him in a manner that I have not seen before. Perhaps my falcon is reacting to the Tom cat and the realization that this strange, patient creature, crouching in the weeds while moving its slow thighs, is no tiger.
As of now, however, my dear falcon’s feathers are getting back to their smooth, unruffled state and his ability to support himself, at this stage of his recovery, is encouraging. I feed him quietly and I slowly rub his feathers. He is not yet consuming great volumes of food, but he is slowly recovering. I am hoping that, by Thursday, he will be flying again and that my regular Thursday message deliveries and transmissions will be able to resume. Right now I have borrowed a laptop from one of the very intelligent, well-informed, conservative, prudent and honest money managers who lives nearby, up here on Banker Hill.
While my dear bird recovers, I nave been spending more time carefully scanning strange movements that have begun, down by the river, in the valley below. What I see troubles my sight. What are these objects that have seemingly emerged from nowhere to join the Tom cat at the river’s edge? Whose shadows do I see? What is this creature that has emerged from the freezing cold waters of the river below? I see a shape with the head of a man, the tusks of a walrus and the body of a tiger. I see a small but noble ship, with the letters “RMS CryoPort” engraved upon its bow. “What does this mean?”, I ask myself.
It has become dark. A massive grey cloud has planted itself in the sun’s path and I can no longer see the activity below. The vast scene by the river has faded from my view. It is quiet, eerily quiet and the mountain trees are standing still, like petrified stones. Suddenly a violent peal of thunder fills the sky and the whole earth begins to shake. A blinding flash of lightening has just streaked across the dark sky and has illuminated the shining ribbon of the river below. My eye catches a short glimpse of the cat, the Tom cat, patiently sitting in the weeds, oblivious to the sea of the surrounding confusion.
Now the quiet has crept in again, drowning out the distant howls of the coyotes located somewhere in the valley below. I hear rain, the sound of a soft, gentle rain. Again I say, “Surely some revelation is at hand.” Surely there are cold, hard facts, swirling in the atmosphere above, whose existence has not yet reached our senses. Can it be that my falcon has encountered these formulations? Is this why he was seized by a force, still unknown and still unannounced?
Fifty-six days of stony, dark, silent drought have engulfed the valley below. The Eden has turned to dust, the Prairie to a cruel wasteland of crusty, ravaged soil. All hope has seemingly faded from this rich earth, save for the patient drizzle whose falling presence is again turning eyes to the sky above.
What does all of this mean? Whose scerecy is at work here? What do these mysterious forces portend and what will emerge from these strange events? Why is there this confusion?
Is all of this the precursor to the Second Coming?
AI
