Questing

I have been on the look out for Adventure.

Oh, I know that one of the purposes of the this blog is to fine tune our sight to see all of life as full of wonder and awe and mystery and adventure. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!

But sometimes I long for a real adventure. The kind that might include dragons and swords and flaming projectiles.

Or possible stealthy and furtive trips through the night to lay a trap for the enemy.

Maybe even a secret passage or a daring rescue. I don’t even care if I am the rescuer or rescuee, as long as the rescue is done with flair.

And throw in a few magical encounters and crazy characters to spice up the quest.

That cannot be asking too much of the world, can it?

And then I spied a TREBUCHET.

 

 

Thankfully, I have brothers who have taught me about  things like trebuchets.

(Side Note: Brothers can be quite wonderful things. Mine have inspired me to research codes of chivalry, play with swords, (the real-ish, actually pointy type,) learn nautical phrases and try to figure out how a sextant works, and watch Band of Brothers.

And part of their sharing of the Awesome includes once having built a model trebuchet in the back yard. Thus I know the difference between a trebuchet and a catapult.)

A trebuchet is a medieval siege engine that differ from catapults in that they are more like a slingshot, and balanced with counterweights. And they have the greater range and force that go with slingshots.

The one I saw – from the corner of my eye as I drove by – was only a model. But it bespoke of glamor and heroics and mayhap heraldry . . .

And my Quest was born.

It was situated in the parking lot of the local Arts Center. The catch? To reach the the alluring siege weapon, I had to pass through the Garden fraught with unholy terrors of the Sculpture. *gasp!*

I decided to embark at dusk, the right and proper time for adventuring.

I called Thalia, to let her know that if I failed to return she would be responsible for the poetic training of my baby loon.

And making sure that I was properly equipped with a adventurous spirit and a magic staff in the guise of an umbrella, I set off. With nary an extra handkerchief in my pocket.

And I crept quietly and stealthily to my goal. First, I passed by the heapy, blocky building that claims to be the ‘Arts Center’. It reports to have a Genghis Khan Exhibit at moment. I spared a moment to break my travels and wonder if Genghis Khan had ever used a trebuchet.

Then I reached the secret door in the wall that that leads to the Dangerous Garden of Sculptures!

I stepped through, expecting I know-not-what, and promptly discovered the first terror. The ever so maladroitly named “Politicized Democracy”.

I fled, running wildly from the rampant insanity that does not dare to contemplate what unpoliticized democracy might look like.

Fortunately, I stumbled across a helpful character. Called, “The Goddess of Golden Thighs”. Being a polite person, (particularly when on quests, as my studies of fairy tales have taught me to be,) I did not inquire as to the cause for such a moniker. But apparently she was taking of the role of Wise Woman of the Garden. (I also failed to ascertain if she was the crone, mother or maiden. But it stand to reason that she must be one or t’other.)

With the moon rising behind her, she was an awesome sight. She directed me to the easiest path out of the Garden, across the glowing pond,

beyond the exploding flower,

and past the lurking thing known as “Slam Dunk”. Unfortunately, she could not explain the naming of that last one.

And at last, I found my grail. I mean, trebuchet. After a journey littered with peril and political statements, I beheld the wondrous sight of the trebuchet.

Much to my deep sorrow, the poor little trebuchet is kept locked and weighted and security camera-ed and aimed at the Fire Station.

And even I, and the height of my adventuring bravado, hesitate to slingshot things at a Fire Station.  It seems a bit unsporting.

So I merely looked, and marveled.And enjoyed being near to such a thing as can end wars and provide excuses for heroic deeds.

Just seeing it proves to me that there are Adventures out there. Lurking around corners, or hiding behind bookshelves! The trebuchet, small and hampered though it be, give me hope for the world.

And so, wishing it a happy and adventurous life, I said farewell to the pretty little trebuchet. Some day it might grow up into a big, scary, trebuchet.

And then eagles carried me home. And thus my Quest comes to a rather peaceful close.

Until the next one . . . .

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One thought on “Questing

  1. Hurrah for the Eagles! Now I want an adventure of my own. Alas I know of no trebuchets in my neck of the city, but there are some hills within sight that bear the name of Diablo! I like to drive in them when I have a spare hour with my truck–err, noble steed.

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