Fronds

   
    Stiffly folded, elegant palm fronds are the origami of our local gods, Gla and Glo. The palm trees soar eighty feet in the air on preposterous one-foot diameter bare trunks and burst into a fireworks cascade of fronds at the very top.

    Gla and Glo are tricky and somewhat slothful. Hedonists at heart. They absolutely refused the iceberg/polar bear/penguin gig when it was offered.

    “Forfend!” Gla had put the ‘d’ on the end of the word like a hammer giving the last whack to a nail. With acid sweetness she had added, “Give that ghastly gig to Pessie, the Grumpy Pussy who thinks stark white is becoming and who likes to suffer. He’ll say, ‘Frozen, bleak. Howling wind. Yum.’”

    Gla and Glo settled in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Northern California and indolently and brilliantly set about making it the gentle paradise it is. If you think stirring some dirt, water, sky, sun and presto —  palm tree is ho hum, you’re one of the bleating blind and deaf who’ve come to inhabit this swell planet in such ignorant herds.

    Into a nut the size of the end of your thumb, Gla and Glo managed to pack the holo-holo of the sky-sweeper palm tree. The holo-holo is the minute, whole sense (holo-optic, holo-audic, holo-olfact, holo-kino, holo-gusto) rendition of the tree which will emerge magically making itself out of dirt.

    Gla and Glo knew that Sol3 was going to be issued grade D, biped sentients which were agog-impaired with limited attention spans. In addition to making these benighted beasts comfortable, Gla and Glo hoped to stir sparks of grade C or even grade B sentiment from these dull Processing Units with dazzling tricks like the sky-sweeper palm.

    Among the felinoa sapiens who guard Sol3 from the malignant space vulteros who feed on the brain-dead and soul-tepid and the Republican, the sky-sweeper palm made Gla and Glo’s reputation. The palms were a splendid and impossible joke. Glo had done the preposterous soaring trunks — a glorified stalk really — which swayed dangerously in the strong local afternoon winds.

    Gla had fashioned the ecstatic spray of pleated fronds with their large stiff folded fan-shaped ‘palm’ attached to the tree’s crown by a five-foot long stiff flat stalk. Hanging from the end of each stiff fold is a languid fringe whose sensitivity is akin to whiskers for a cat.

    Decoding the merest breeze delicately, the slender frond fingers answer the gossip, the news with an ethereal melody. In the very late afternoon when the angle of the sun is just right, when the winds subside to evening zephyrs, the frond fringe flashes with crackling molten gold sparks flung with passion and abandon into the sunset air.

    The lion-drawn chariot of Day departs, gaudy, resplendent. The shadows lie like panthers stretched beside the emerald bushes. The Night Gods arch their eyebrows and spread indigo softly across the landscape. Gla and Glo, content, watch their beloved sky-sweeper palms turn to pen-and-ink silhouettes against the spangled sky, settle to slumber, and purr.’ 

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8 Rainstorm . Cauac . Redbird. West  tzol  99  09.08.05 thur

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