Here is a recent imaginative piece connecting with some past writing.
Should one be troubled for having an imagination, should one be hounded for using it? Is it safer and advisable to remain bland, boring, predictable, quiet and untroubled?
The old one, injured and broken at the cave entrance, looks at me. His drawings made on the cave walls are lessons, about the hunt, about bringing food back home, to feed the old, the mothers and their young, who live here.
The fire burns, its smoke finding a way out, warns any approaching that we are here. It tells us that we are home. This is our place and we will not be moved.
I venture out of the cave, it can be dangerous to be alone and I don’t want to end up mauled and torn like the old fellow at the cave entrance. He was once a brave and respected hunter, but now he makes himself useful telling stories and teaching the young.
I look into the sky and in the distance I see birds circling, a sure indication that there is something below them that we should investigate.
I hurry back into the cave to pick up a long stick with a sharpened stone at its tip. It will be my protection in the dangerous place that I’m about to visit under those circling birds.
I look around for others to join me.
A group has a chance of success but alone one would never return.
I point up at the sky.
Others begin to gather together weaponry, shields, pieces of body armour, made from wood, dried skin, bone, stone.
We will be confronting angry sharp teeth and claws. There is fear of injury during the struggle to succeed.
We leave at a trot in the direction of the tell tale birds. A few dogs join at our heels knowing that there is a good chance of a meal. The group has done this many times. Dogs and men know one another.
There is one unknown though.
A youth, out of curiosity, has joined us and needs to learn.
It was this youth who first spotted the circling birds and called out.
We hope he won’t put himself in the way of danger and will begin to learn how to be a useful member of our team.
It is quite a distance to our target.
We will need to stay close.
There is always a chance that a straggler will get separated and be brought down.
Two of the dogs stick close by the new lad. They sense he is vulnerable and watch and ward his movements. He seems to like the attention.
We move faster and as we grow close we make noise.
A lot of noise.
We’re telling the predator we respect her.
We have no wish to harm her but we’re here determined to steal the prey she has just dispatched.
We will bate, confuse and confound, until she relinquishes what she has and it becomes ours.
Our armour, our weapons and our numbers will overcome and we will return to the cave triumphantly carrying the stolen corpse of her kill.
Without her we would starve, our cave with its pictures would grow quiet, our lives no more than a distant memory.
