Kempt, his sundial folded back into the wristwatch case, squatted down like a catcher. “I’m putting the gang back together, Amble. It is time to once again publish works upon works of inexhaustible Beauty. It is time to once again fill the world’s shared thought with the raucously shimmering droplets of the Great God’s infinitely-delighted and -delightful laughter.”
Amble looked up, squinting in the yellow sun. “Yeah?” Then he turned back towards Susan and nuzzled his nose into the bottom of his earlobe.
Kempt stood up, shrugging as he went. “Susan — tell him — tell Amble that he can’t spend all his time squishing the bridge of his nose into the back of your ear.”
Susan giggled. The angelic hosts filled the heavens with the sweetest, most effervescently tinkly chime symphony. “Well, he can’t spend all his time doing that, but maybe a few days more. I’ve been lonely too. It seemed I’d never find anyone I could share space with. Like I’d never find someone I could just let myself be myself around. It’s such a relief to find love, to be allowed to be all of you: fully mind and heart and yet also fully animal and bite.” She giggled again. I felt my being tingle and shake with bewildered delight — like a puppy greeting its human after a long day of moping around on the floor by itself.
Kempt gave a little knick-nod and began pacing back and forth in the row of trod-down grass in front of the tombstones. He checked his watch again, which this time released a weather balloon. He sat down cross-legged on a little hillock kitty-corner from Amble and Susan, and watched as the weather data began streaming into the flat watch screen (it’s not that he thought this investigation of the weather was needed — it was just that he thought that he didn’t know what to do but he wanted to do something).
Timothy, hovering now a few feet above Keat’s gravestone, angled his wings so as to catch a gust and surf it towards Kempt. Then he dropped down and tread air a little in front of Kempt’s frustration-pressed lips and -twitching nose. “Ever been in love?”
Kempt looked up from the superfluous atmospheric readings. “Sure! I guess. Yes. Definitely.” He looks with scrunch-eyed impatience around Rome’s ancient (well, definitely old) green, gray, and lilac Protestant Cemetery. “I find myself between relationships at the moment.”
“That’s optimistic,” replies Tim with a playful (spritelike) smile.
“What?! Oh, well, hmmmph.” And Kempt returned his attention to details about the atmospheric pressures, wind speeds, and other forces that was then tussling and tangling the air a hundred fifty feet over their heads.
Author: Still BW
Editor: Still AW
Copyright: Still AMW
Reason: Still because because