The new year was welcomed with grand celebration and the hellions were driven back into the underworld. It had not been planned. It had just happened that way, due to the energy that was in the air. As you know, people breathe in the air, and thus if there is a certain quality to the air, though indiscernible until later, they breathe that in too. Thus it was that the right elements were in place for a swelling of the spirit and suddenly it was happening. An unquestionable victory. But as you know from the movies, there tends to linger the idea that the vanquished shall return someday. But, in this case, it was not an issue. They were banished and it was a good thing, and if you are going to equivocate about it, then up your arse and off you go.
Sometimes it just be like that. Not so long ago, people had their heads turned down, heavy with the grief of failure, of impotence and inertia. The skies were bright and sunny, the flowers bloomed and the birds did sing, but there was no doubt that the bad feelings of the few had somehow been given a toehold and had managed to promulgate and multiply throughout the land, touching everyone who lived and breathed beneath those bright blue skies. Once it has a chance to spread like that, there’s nothing you can do to hold it back.
So, how, inexplicably, had it so happened that the flow was turned away and the air got in between the atoms enough to shake things loose? One does not know because we do not have tools to measure such things. Wind speed? Humidity? Barometric pressure? Yes, of course, these all discern a great deal of what is happening with the air. But there are other forces at play of which we have no monitor. Until we do, there is no way to explain, other than to say that it just happens so. And thus it did. Without a great discernible signifying moment, like a torrent or a thunderclap or a tornado. No, it just happened and the change was felt immediately.
As the hellions were sucked back down below, the people all laid down as one, and took a nap. After an hour or two, they rose and got up with good feeling and an impulse to celebrate the day. A great feast was in order and the people got down to the tasks of making it happen. Whisking was heard. Boiling was felt. Chopping was smelled. A great fire was lit and the meal was at hand. Dancing ensued. Music was played, and the day ended with a poem read aloud by a youngster, a poem of worship and wonder. The people cheered, they cleaned up and then they went to bed, exhausted and happy.
THE MOSSY BOG 