On Walking, Whizzing, and Wings

Welcome to my contemplations. Now while I am a dragon, (and presumably you are here because you have gotten past the “monster” stigma cast upon my race) you might think that I have a perspective that is so very different from your own that mine is inconceivable. With all due respect, I believe that is puddle-dust. In my considerable experience, is it not normal for everyone to have a different perspective on strings, and birds, and baubles? So, if you would, let me indulge you in a bit of conversation.

Let us begin with the simple act of perambulating. I believe it is quite pleasant on a cool, early spring morning to take one’s constitutional, or to mosey among the toe tickling grass, listening to the birds chirp and warble. There is a special energy that comes from the freshness of recently rained upon soil and joy at the sight of green leaves emerging on trees and bushes. To see the strength with which this year’s flowers push through the matted layer of detritus from last year’s extravaganza of living is quite inspiring to the attentive mind. It offers us the truest lesson of life, that when all has been done and left to mold and decay, deep beneath the sorrow of the past and its end, there is the hope of new life. Hadn’t considered such wonders?

Now to shatter your contemplative mood with the act of whizzing. As a dragon, I am not often inclined to do this, but there are occasions when one must get somewhere with purpose. I believe you humans have perfected this with your inventions. The wheel, for one, appears to be a mightly useful tool. Your youngsters learn early its use by attaching them to their foot coverings, or on simple boards that I have seen used with considerable skill and pleasure. But I find your cars and trains most interesting. To encapsulate oneself in metal and glass so as to avoid the onslaught of senses when one must rush to arrive at a prescribed time, is both brilliant and disheartening. If one is of single focus, being able to ignore everything around you to achieve your purpose seems quite useful, even if you miss out on everything on the way to your destination.  However, I believe at least a few of your kind have discovered the joys of the onslaught of senses because they have removed the tops of their cars and whiz with the wind and sunshine surrounding them and are often seen thrusting their hands into the air in celebration. Perhaps one of you might offer me an opportunity to celebrate with you?

I am sure by now you have noted that I missed your most impressive form of whizzing in your metal dragons. It gives me no end of pleasure to see you properly evolving and spreading your wings, if you will, to experience the most useful and exhilarating form of whizzing. Flight offers everything. With a calculated twist of a wing, soaring slow over the patchwork of fields and brushing tree tops with one’s claws becomes a pleasant pastime, but with a few powerful strokes we can push ourselves high into the billowy clouds that whisper along our scales with a fresh coolness that makes any venture true pleasure. Oh, forgive me, your metal dragons have yet to become quite as adept at flying. Perhaps at some point when our paths cross, I can offer you a ride on my back and we can share a few joyful moments.

Yours until crickets roar,


On Treasure Hoarding

With the days of celebration and remembrance recently past, I wanted to inquire with those who are not unconscious from marathons of movies; lying dejected because your ‘team of warriors’ lost their ‘grid-iron’ battle; or lying comatose from over indulgence of sweets, why is it that dragons are scorned for their habits of collecting things they find pleasing and valuable? Is it not the yearly tradition of many humans to raid poorly hidden treasure troves (some I’ve seen even bear over large targets and stars on them)? Droves of you rush the portals of these treasure troves, fill your wheeled baskets with items you consider valuable, and then offer bits of paper, wave plastic cards , or allow your handheld communication devices to convince the gatekeepers to give you your collected treasures. Really now, is that a fair trade? (At least dragons offer fair sport in riddles or melee before making off with their hard won treasure.) After this ritual, I watch these hoarding humans sneak back to their lairs, making futile attempts to hide their newly gotten treasures with the most preposterous method I have in all my years heard of; by wrapping them in colorful paper and stacking them under a dead tree brought into their lairs for this express purpose- REALLY HUMANS? You say DRAGONS have strange habits? At least the ones who stash these poorly camouflaged treasures in dark corners and the upper reaches of their lairs seem, at first glance, to have the idea mostly correct. But then, on the prescribed evening of celebration, they bring all their hidden treasures out to the aforementioned tinseled dead tree, where on the following morning, the youngest of your species goes tearing into these camouflaged treasures with squeals of delight. To make matters worse, some of your young have obviously lost their proper instinct concerning what is legitimate treasure. Why I’ve seen a goodly number of them discard the treasure, so carefully hidden in layers of protective wrapping, and revel instead with the flimsy brown chest it was hidden in. And if this ritual wasn’t strange enough, after they’ve revealed and given away all their treasure, they rush back to the poorly disguised lairs to obtain even more treasure.

But all this hoarding and camouflaging aside, if you promise not to ridicule my habits, I shall not ridicule yours. What is it that you find most appealing and are compelled to collect?

Yours until crickets roar,


In the Blink of an Eye

In the blink of an eye, each minute wonder is snatched from a single moment in time as a fleeting portrait; yours to see and cherish forever. With each closing of your eyelids, a complete masterpiece is archived for only you to examine and re-experience. Uncover each tiny element that makes your portrait uniquely yours. Find you are more a master of art than you know, when you pull a moment to admire it. On your canvas, you have perfectly captured the scent, the sound, the taste, the feel, the color of that moment. Look deeper, grasp meaning in the simplest things that cannot be touched but only felt by the heart. Open your eyes to see; capture another moment; close them to feel; open them again and again, capturing moment after moment, yours alone to cherish.

Yours until crickets roar,


A Story by any other name is still a story.

I came across a debate on the Web of Mystics where they were arguing the classification of stories, more specifically what brands a story as science fiction or fantasy. Now, if you would permit a dragon of discerning tastes to weigh in on this subject, I would say that personally, I prefer a good solid story that spurs the imagination, regardless of what label purveyors of tomes would place upon it.

What value is there in the need to narrow one’s definition and categorize stories of the fantastic as either science fiction or fantasy or some other subgenre?  Some proponents of a ‘more pure’ science fiction use a definition from the library of Wiki (a truly fantastical creature) to support their claim, that without such tangible items as space ships, time machines, and other such items of technology (whether or not you understand how to use it), a story has no right to stand shoulder to shoulder with stories born in the minds of such demi-gods as Issac A. and Georgie O. (Quite friendly chaps that gladly talked our ear off a time or two.) Truly this definition was sprang from the minds of these gods and I believe (with all deference to their greatness) that we modern folk must adopt a more contemporary thinking to understand and accept the scope of this ugly duckling genre and its cinder smudged stepsister.

Does defining and narrowing the definition of a flower as a rose, or an orchid, truly change the pleasure a flower brings? Would you be less likely to be amazed by the beauty of a Green Hellebore or a Green Cymbidium simply because it was given such an unattractive label?

As one who learned at the knee of Scheherazade (truly a master of a thousand and one fantastic stories), I say open wide your arms and fling your minds into the rich morass of stories and storytelling. Whether it has or does not have some perceived element that pushes it into a category that may or may not be to your liking, do not shun a story for its simple classification. Every story is worthy of your enjoyment.

Tell me the name of your favorite story.

Yours until crickets roar,


From a Letter to the Editor: “Are Dragons Real?”

I must say I was a bit taken aback when I received a letter questioning my actual existence. While I am not offended, I am dismayed since I was under the impression humans had not lost all their faculty for perception of the obvious. The fact that a letter was actually sent and obviously received, substantiates that I must indeed exist, otherwise, why would anyone be writing to me? Now that I have shown you the error in your logic, perhaps we can move on to the true matter that concerns so many, “How can dragons be real if they cannot be seen?”

I would like to expound upon the merits of not truly being seen and the advantages to this state of being. I believe perhaps I can make myself most clear by using two common human phrases.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” this familiar human phrase (by the way- it was pirated from dragons in ancient times) clearly demonstrates the greatest advantage. You see, (or maybe not) most dragons prefer a quiet, solitary existence to contemplate theological concepts, and go to great lengths to be unobtrusive or even identifiable. History is full of tales where dragons and lairs have been discovered and then the poor dragons are attacked for their household goods. And when they attempt to protect them or object to being evicted from their lair? Well, rather than go into a disquieting or gory discussion, I will simply ask, what would you do to protect your own household goods?

“Hidden in Plain sight” is perhaps my most favorite human phrase because it is my most favorite of pastimes. There are so many things that achieve this state, made obvious by the eternal strife in households between the dominant female and her fledglings or more notably her mate. (While I have not witnessed this for myself, I do have reliable witnesses to corroborate my story.) How many times in the early light of sunrise is this wail heard, “Honey, where are my socks?” Or perhaps this one, “Mom! Where are my shoes?” And yet another common call, “What did you do with- (insert a variety of mundane objects here)?” These wails of dismay are inevitably answered by the dominant female attending upon her distressed beloved and picking up the item, sitting in plain sight or retrieving it from where it is supposed to be stored and handing it to the wailer.

Another proof of this phrase is seen most often in human cities where hundreds are never even recognized. Many an artist, or writer will sit for hours watching the throngs pass and never be noticed, not unlike a number of my kin who have been photographed as inanimate statues. (I must apologize for the inappropriate yawn and the moment immediately after they dropped the ball.)

Dragon2   Dragon1

So now tell me, where is your favorite place to go, see but not be seen?

Yours Until Crickets Roar,




The Tastes of Dragons

Welcome to all who are curious about the tastes of dragons.

It is widely believed that dragons have a peculiar affinity for humans and other sentient beings. I assure you, nothing can be farther from the truth. In the past, I am sure there were those who may have nibbled a bit on your canned humans, but I assure you it was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding. For you see when one has something stuck between ones teeth, it is a great annoyance, don’t you agree? So what else is to be done, when the use of tree splinters to remove the offending bit is COMPLETELY uncivilized? Obtaining a more effective metal probe made to perfectly fit between one’s talons, I believe you humans call it a lancelot, is far more civilized and effective? (Please feel free to correct me if I am misinformed.) So you see if the canned humans would have politely offered their lancelots for use, we could have quietly moved on without so much outrageous behavior.

As to our taste for mutton, there is definitive truth, not to be confused with mutton chops which are a most distasteful fashion, at least in my humble opinion. My preferences lay with the succulent flavor of mutton. Here is my favorite recipe for a Butterflied Leg of Lamb. Feel free to try it. I suggest without the wool since those are the bits that tend to get stuck most between ones teeth, but I would ask you about a strange human custom of preparing lamb: do you prefer your lamb with or without something called mint jelly?


Yours until crickets roar,



Where Dragons Whisper

My name is Candra Aleya Kinna, you may call me Aleya. I am a she-dragon. I have begun this conversation to enlighten the world about the variety of interests that we of dragonkind possess and to assist in dispelling the ridiculous notion that we are no more than savage mindless beasts, bent on the destruction of mankind, elvenkind or any other sentient beings. I will make no excuses for my kind defending themselves over the years and across the worlds, nor will I say that there are not those of dragonkind that are not far less refined than myself, but will converse instead about the many things I find interesting and do sincerely hope that you may offer your polite comment and perhaps offer up questions or topics that we may discuss further.

As to the chosen title for our ongoing conversation, many would say that a dragon whispering is a preposterous concept, but I say to you who have made it this far that only those who lack the power of reasoning would believe otherwise. For have any of you to date heard a dragon whisper? My point exactly. (Grins.)

Please visit frequently to add your comment or perhaps ask questions that only a dragon can answer.

Yours until crickets roar,