A Dragon's Fire

Once upon a time there was a young dragon. She was a wild and fiery creature. Passionate and free. Over time, the dragon grew up and she grew strong. In the warmth of family and friendship, and some heartaches, she learnt her beauty and her power.

For the first few years of her adult life, the dragon lived in a small town. It was a strange town where rats and parrots were friends and terrible histories were mostly ignored. Sometimes bad things happened in that town and, as a result, a little of the dragon’s wild fire began to fade. But not all the things that happened there were bad. In that time the dragon made many true friends. She befriended a wolf and they ran together, fearless and free, in the cold of the winter nights and in their wild imaginings. And she flew with a hawk, soaring and floating and pushing each other ever higher and higher.

Many years later, the dragon had a young one of her own. She lived far across the ocean in a green land that sometimes shook and shuddered. Over the years, she had rebuilt her wildness and her free spirit and her strength and healed, little by little.

One day the dragon heard a familiar cry from far, far away. She knew that cry. It was the same cry she had heard so high above the world when she soared and floated with the hawk. The dragon tried to reach out with her mind and her heart but the hawk was elusive. Yet she knew in her dragon-bones that something was wrong.

After a time, the dragon found a way and a time and set off to find the hawk. In the land of her birth, not far from the small town, she found her old friend. Although the hawk looked exactly the same, the dragon hardly recognised her. The hawk used to soar and sweep. Now she stayed on the ground and hid. The hawk had forgotten how to fly.

At first the hawk was reluctant, distant. It had been so long; they had lived such different lives. But slowly the dragon breathed life into the broken bird again. With her fire, she touched and healed the hawk’s broken heart and helped her rediscover the passion that had been her own sort of fire.

The dragon had a life of her own now and needed to return to her child but before she left, after much coaxing to convince her friend, she carried the hawk up into the sky on her back. Before long, the hawk was brave enough to try her own wings and soon the hawk and the dragon were soaring and drifting and floating, just as they had so many years ago.

That night, the hawk flew with the dragon out across the sea. They embraced and twirled and played, before each strong creature, both a little less broken, turned for home and the wild, passionate quiet of two beautiful lives. 

Strange Statues, Rotterdam

The Dutch appear to believe strongly in public art. Which is great. But not entirely sure I am on the same page in terms of what constitutes "art".