Dragons live on many worlds and in the bending space between many others. There are dragons for each element and corresponding direction; the Northern Stone Dragon, The Fire Dragon of the South, The Western Water Dragon, and my favorite, the Mystical Air Dragon hailing from the East. Most dragons are not evil, despite their misbegotten reputation; but rather, good citizens in their communities. They are by nature curious which ages as wisdom. What in youth was reckless, mellows as tolerance and generosity. Where they were loud when young, ever more they desire simply a quiet spot to think. Dragons are philosophical. They love to read. They are metaphysical. They love to sit and ponder.

If their species has a dark side, it springs from their love of jewels. They cannot help themselves but they must gather into their dens all golden, silver and shining stones and crystals they discover. In their youth, some of them are thieves.

But this too mellows with years, and most adult dragons are masters of trade; earning their glittery gifts by their wits. Most grown dragons develop warm and enduring relationships with their human and non human neighbors; and many use their dragon gifts for the common good, creating an environment in which all creatures can thrive. Indeed, one is fortunate to live near a dragon; one like Windrush Bigbellow.

Windrush, or Rush, as his friends call him, lives in the abyss off the edge of this world. It's flat, you know; and if one travels the ocean too far in any direction, over the edge you tumble, down a timeless waterfall where the water drops morph into stars.

This happened to me! I don't know if in my terror while slipping off the edge of the planet I fainted, or if it's just impossible to be conscious between dimensions, but one moment I was falling through space; and the next I was sailing on a large pool of glass, lit by a rising moon.

The silvery lake shined in a small valley. On all sides rose the silhouettes of round hills topped with a necklace of trees. Small insects flit through the warm night air, bobbing their heavy bottoms that glowed neon green. They looked like fat little barrels lit from within. There were chirpings, rustlings and cries from the shore I did not recognize; but I wasn't afraid. It was all too beautiful. I brought my blanket and pillow on deck and was soon sleeping peacefully beneath a thousand galaxies. In this world between worlds, I felt free.

At dawn, a crooked sun rose from the lake. I woke up refreshed. I could now see the trees covering the hills were ancient oaks, gnarled and twisted, broad and tall; their life experience having carved the shape of leaf and branch. A celebration of flowers and vines turned toward the light. I steered my boat to shore and stepped out on the land. My dragon friend's home was a quarter mile up the hill on the east side of the valley.

Windrush Bigbellow owns a cave of nine rooms. The largest room is a dome in the center, surrounded by eight smaller ones. The entrance has a bower of vines that lace in and out one another like celtic knot work and trail down the hillside. A dozen stone steps down from the entrance, a stream makes its way to the silver lake. It pools there, dark green, tinkling over smooth stones and watering varied vegetation, some roots and berries; all of which Rush finds most delicious. He is a very old dragon, gentle and wise. He renounced eating meat centuries ago.

I climbed the stairs, stood beneath the bower of vines, and called to him. No answer. I walked inside.

In every room, flows of sparkling minerals extend roof to floor, creating natural sconces for the tar and wicker torches used to light the evenings. Scattered windows of glass in the ceilings let daylight filter through his cave during the day and show the stars through the dark hours. I circled to the center room and made myself comfortable on a pile of soft furs. A table groaning with fruit, cheeses, breads and warm tea was before me and I helped myself to breakfast; waiting for the dragon to come home.

I was little nervous. Dragons are fiercely independent, quick to temper, and I wasn't certain he'd remember our first encounter several years earlier; or the invitation he extended me should I ever lose balance sailing the edge and fall into the abyss. "Well, I have, and he did," I said to myself, "and now I could use his help."

…to be continued…by Sharon George