Entering Dark Forest. Intergalactic Finance Minister.

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We walk into the beach house to shower. Pretty flowers on your blouse. Smell of gardenias and orange peels.

Our sedan is waiting, hired post-chaise with team of foals. Springtime feelings abound. Singing birds and verdant buds.

The hayricks stand like sentinels of Neverland.

Cotton ball clouds and raven calls from approaching wooded forest.

Shadows cross the entrance like a stencil.

We enter the dark forest tunnel. A small village is scene in the distance. The North Wind begins to blow, clanging of bells and creaky fences.

The sedan moves forward, a storm appears on the horizon.

Bright rays of phosphorous lightning, terrifying explosions of reverberating thunder.

The rain begins to pour down in buckets and barrels. Our sedan goes dark. The trotting foals have stopped.

A voice on the speaker is heard, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re sorry for the disruption, please stay in your sedan, your journey will continue in a moment.”

You lean into me, I lean into you.

“Shall I read to you?”

“Good idea.”

You begin in a slow mesmerizing cadence, increasing your volume, maximizing effect with feeling.

“Let mine adversaries be clothed with shame, and let them cover themselves with their own confusion, as with a mantle.”

“Help me, O Lord my God: O save me according to thy mercy:

“That they may know that this is thy hand; that thou, Lord, hast done it.

Your fierceness is frightening. You hold out your hand. I reach out to you. Everything disappears.

Entering Dark Forest. Intergalactic Finance Minister.