Children’s short story, poetry & other original works

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Old Captain & Eel of the Moon ___________________________ by Bert Rock (2021)

One summer night, on a weathered pirate ship when the sea was still, and the hour was little more than a whisper, an aging cavalier looked at himself in the mirror. He frowned at the belly he’d nurtured with beer. He ran a finger through his long mustache, and beard, they were getting grayer by the day. Lately, Old Captain had found himself feeling sour about things. He drank more mead and ale now than before and food lacked its taste or appeal save for the bare necessity. He had the best of friends a man could want, a family of friends, but still there were times when he felt unbearably alone. He lifted his mug to his lips to take a gulp of mead when a reflection of moonlight caught his eye. 

He went out onto the deck. It was so quiet aboard the Whimsy Wayfarer since he’d dismissed the crew earlier that day to be by himself. The ship was anchored not far from one of the crew’s favorite islands where they would carouse all night with the locals, whooping it up with the tribesmen and women they had come to know over the years. He could just hear the ruckus of merriment and he knew there would be stories tomorrow.

Alone, Old Captain sipped on his mug of honeyed mead made to be like that in Asgard, though it fell far short. The hull of his faithful ship groaned and sighed, and the wily cavalier scratched his mustache as he looked up at the night sky. High above, a few clouds lingered, and beyond them something was happening to the moon. He squinted to see, even raising on his tiptoes as if it would help.

“What is that?” he said aloud. “It looks like…like–is that a tail?”

There appeared to be a long, white protrusion coming from the moon. The protrusion then started to move, slowly and ponderously, as if the moon itself were unraveling. He looked at the mug in his hand.

“What’s in this mead?”

The mug smelled fine. He tasted it once more, and satisfied, looked back up at the moon. The tail was longer now, and then longer still. The moon was no longer a moon, but something more like a great snake that uncoiled before his eyes while the stars just stood by and did nothing. Old Captain watched in awe as what was the moon, he’d known all his years, looked up to, whispered philosophical musings to late at night, and which had guided him in one way or another throughout his life, had become a giant snake of moonlight making its way toward the earth. 

“I should stop drinking before bed,” he whispered to himself.

The serpentine ribbon of moonlight drew closer and closer. 

“I must be dreaming,” he tried pinching himself, but it was inconclusive. “Mm. Too much mead.” He slapped himself then, harder than he’d intended. “Ow.” He was in fact, awake. 

Shockingly, the snake that was once the moon appeared to be getting smaller, not larger as it approached and then, without so much as a splash, it slipped into the ocean silently, disappearing in the horizon. A moment later, a line of bright moonlight wound its way toward the ship and there before Old Captain was the creature. It was the length of two blue whales swimming nose to tail. 

“You are beautiful,” Old Captain said and squinted through his haze. “What are you?” 

He was not expecting a reply, but he got one. 

“Thank you. I am Eel. What are you?”

The voice seemed to be in the air all around him, under him and above him. He would later describe it as ethereal. The thought of two young friends came to mind then, and he wished they were there to see this. 

“Nice to meet you Eel. My name is Callidus, but you can call me Old Captain if you like.” 

Depths of the ocean were now visible from above as the luminous giant swam closer to the ship. Fish and other denizens of the deep gawked at Eel, drawn by the light, both blinding and mesmerizing. Old Captain looked up and could not see the moon, only what appeared to be a black circle where it was before. 

Old Captain pointed up. “Is that–are you?” He looked at his mead again. “Are you the moon?” 

“Do not be alarmed friend,” Eel said in his or her ethereal voice. 

Old Captain wondered then if the moon could be a, him or her, or perhaps both? 

“Apologies,” he said. “I am feeling a tad befuddled. The moon, it’s um, it’s gone?” 

“No need for alarm, the moon is there safe and sound.”

“It is?” 

“It is.” 

“Then, if you don’t mind my asking,” Old Captain thought how best to say it. “What are you?” 

“I am the moonlight,” Eel said. “Sorry if I frightened you. It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve talked to anyone.” 

“What are you doing here?” Old Captain found himself gawking.  

“I am here for a swim. I like the way the water feels.” 

Old Captain nodded and shrugged with a conciliatory smile, “Naturally.”

“Would you care to join me Callidus Old Captain?” Eel asked. 

He looked around and remembering that nobody from his crew was on board to notice, decided, why not?

“I’d be delighted to!” 

Old Captain removed his coat, and his boots and jumped in. The water was warm, and he was suddenly struck by the sheer size of Eel now that he was much closer. Eel’s face had a friendly look to it, his or her mouth was curved slightly in a smile the way all serpent mouths are. It occurred to Old Captain then that he would have no chance if the creature had ill intent for him. He was confident that Eel could swallow a great white shark in a single gulp. 

“Pardon me for asking this,” Old Captain said when he came up for air. “You’re not going to eat me, are you?”

He immediately wished he’d asked the question before jumping in the water.  

“I don’t eat fleshy matter.” 

Again, the voice surrounded him, he could even feel it in his bones. Old Captain cocked his head to the side. 

“Really? What do you eat?” 

“Stardust.” 

The answer made sense somehow. Considering the absurdity of the situation, he thought any answer would make sense. Old Captain thought of a whale swimming, its mouth open, capturing plankton and all the tiny critters a whale eats. He imagined Eel doing that, but the plankton was bits of star floating in the ether of space. 

Eel’s body was as thick as a sperm whale about two hundred feet long, and yet the giant moved as gracefully as a silk scarf in a breeze.  Eel’s eyes were hard to see through the shine of the scales, but he thought he could see the Milky Way in them. 

Old Captain felt something then that he’d not felt in many years, a sense of absolute wonder. He could see the familiar patterns of the moon, the whites and the grays that made up what looked like a rabbit, or a man, but they were just patterns of scales, luminous white, pale yellows, and grays. 

“Let us swim then,” Eel said. “I cannot maintain this small size for very long, and I would like to enjoy your company before I must leave.” 

Old Captain swam with Eel and watched in wonder at all the fish and creatures of the deep that gazed at him and the giant moonlit being he accompanied. As they swam, he felt more and more at home in the water, as if he belonged there. He also felt slightly younger, the usual aches and pains of age seemed to abate in the brilliant light of this magnificent being. The swim was pleasant, and as they went, they talked of the world and its many ages. 

Several times throughout their journey Old Captain wondered how to address Eel, with a ‘him’ or a ‘her’ but each time the thought came to him it seemed strange to ask, so he didn’t. At one point, they swam by an ancient shipwreck. The ocean floor was nearly done claiming the old galleon for the deep. 

“Such an interesting world you have,” Eel said. 

“Indeed. I imagine you’ve seen a lot in your day.”

“I watched this world grow,” Eel said with a hint of wistfulness. “Many, so many souls have looked to me to guide them.” 

“I guess so,” Old Captain said as he tread water. “I guess we all look up to you. I suppose you’ve been asked the meaning of life a lot.” 

“Mmmm. Everyone from the great lizards to you humans has asked me that question,” Eel said. “Every living being searches for meaning, and they all ask me at one time or another, and the answer is always the same…” 

Eel’s voice trailed off and then there was a silence between them for a moment. The sound of the ocean was calming and made time hard to count. A sudden and unexpected need to know the answer came over Old Captain. His throat went dry, and he felt his heart flutter with anticipation. Was he going to hear some ancient wisdom never before heard? Would the answer fill the hole in his heart? Could he leave his sometimes-sadness here in the water, in this moment?

After a while, almost nervously, Old Captain broke the quiet. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“What is what?” Eel replied.

Old Captain spit out a bit of water. “The meaning of life?” 

Eel leaned in close to him. 

“Living.” 

Old Captain blinked at the response. He opened his mouth to say something but could not muster a single word. Eel’s answer was a slap of cold water, because in that moment, he knew it was true. After a pause, they continued with their swim, neither saying another word for some time. They swam far, so far, he’d lost sight of his ship, but something told him that it was okay, and he would be fine as long as he stayed close to Eel. Other giants of the deep moved out of the way and he saw the faces of whales, sharks, and squid alike, all gazing at them with what he assumed was wonder.

Later, Eel offered tales of years, centuries and millennia long gone while Old Captain listened and felt small. They otherwise enjoyed each other’s company silently. 

As the sun started to crack the darkness open like an egg, Old Captain and Eel had arrived back at his ship. He felt like he’d swam the whole ocean. The old ship groaned and creaked as it always did and seemed smaller now than when he’d left it. 

“Will I ever see you again?” Old Captain asked. 

He suddenly felt a swell of emotion in his chest as the words left his lips. He was going to miss Eel. 

“You will,” Eel said. “Next time I want to hear your stories.” 

“I’ve got just the one for you.” 

“What’s it about?” Eel perked up, as much as a two-hundred-foot sea serpent can. “Tell me a little so I look forward to it.” 

Old Captain smiled. “It’s about how a young knight, and an even younger wizard who saved a doddering old fool.” 

“Mmmm, I will be back for more Callidus Old Captain. Thank you for swimming with me and sharing your company.” 

Eel lifted the cavalier up with his or her giant tail and set him back down on the deck of the Whimsy Wayfarer. 

“Thank you,” said Old Captain. “I shall miss you til you return.” 

“Just look to the sky and you will see me,” Eel said. “I will shine a bit brighter now that I’ve made a friend.”

There was a bright light as Eel left the ocean and returned to the moon, swimming through the sky and the sea of space. Old Captain felt suddenly exhausted and retired to his quarters. Safe in his bed, he slept for the whole day and into the night dreaming about moonlight, dinosaurs, and all manner of creatures earthly or otherwise. 

When he woke, he felt something he’d not felt in more years than he could recall–peace, he was at peace with his life. It was a good life. He wondered then if his sadness would return, and then thought of what Eel said, “Living.” He smiled at the answer, so simple and yet so true. If the sadness returned, so be it, it was a part of that living. 

Two faces came to mind for him then, the face of the Young Knight and the Younger Wizard. He chuckled. Thoughts of them always brought a smile to his face. 

“Eel of the Moon,” he whispered to himself. “Wait til they hear this one.” 

Several weeks later, after the next full moon, Old Captain strolled out on deck and looked to the sky. He saw a strange thing then and smiled. The moon had a tail. 

Old Captain & The Golden Tooth___________________________by Bert Rock (2020)

The island was known as a place from which sailors never returned. The Cavalier Callidus de Saxum, known better as, “Old Captain,” was brought before the mighty and terrible Troll King. His crew was rounded up and put into a pen where they waited while their leader was to be judged by the island monarch. The men rued the decision to come to ashore and stared forlornly at their ship, The Whimsy Wayfarer.

Old Captain had a sharp face with a long, black mustache tinged with gray. He was tall and wore an old Conquistador’s breastplate fitted over a fluffy shirt that was once a brilliant white. He wore a hat like any pirate with a long, mangy feather that had lost much of its flourish. His sword at his side, was the kind any swashbuckling sea captain might have. He did not consider himself a pirate though many would disagree.

The Troll King was a mountain of stony flesh with gray skin that resembled rock. Stiff bristles of hair jutted out from his chin and cheeks. He would be eight feet tall if not for his enormous, bulbous belly that forced him to slouch and drag his great arms across the ground.

“So, you’re the one they call, Old Captain,” said the Troll King.

“I am,” Old Captain said. “You are the Troll King, but I have a question.”

“Ask.”

“Well, this is an island,” he said. “I thought trolls lived under bridges. Where’s your bridge?”

The Troll King became angry at this and growled, causing the smaller trolls to cower and whimper. Old Captain squared himself and stuck his chin out defiantly.

The Troll King leaned down close, causing Old Captain’s nose hairs to cringe. “I am no bridge troll. Bridge Trolls have nothing. Look at my kingdom!” he stood up and put his massive arms out wide. “This island is mine! Everything and everyone on it belong to me,” he bent down toward his captive once again and put a claw under Old Captain’s chin. “That includes you.”

Old Captain gulped and wrinkled his nose.

“Yes, yes of course O Mighty and Moldy One,” he said. “You are surely a great king. Your exploits are known the world over, which is why I came here of course, to see you,” he pointed at the huge creature. “I wanted to witness the greatly greatness of the great Troll King!”

Old Captain’s crew grumbled and murmured behind him. He looked back and caught a crewman’s gaze and gave a wink.

“You came here on purpose?” the Troll King asked.

“Of course, I did!” Old Captain waved his hand before him to expel the king’s stench.

“No sailor leaves here alive,” Troll King said. “Look at all my spoils they’ve left me.”

He waved his arms at piles of broken chests filled with spyglasses, compasses, swords, jewelry, and all manner of sea farer trappings. Old Captain felt his mouth go dry. He cleared his throat.

“Yes, well,” Old Captain steeled his nerve. “All the more reason to come and see you, right?”

“Well, now you see me. What have you to say?”

There was a tall tree behind the Troll King and from it, hung a gibbet, a cage that held perhaps the biggest and strangest bird Old Captain had ever seen. It was alive, though it looked to be so not for long and had eyes that betrayed a kind of intelligence.  

“I came to challenge you,” Old Captain said and immediately cringed at his own words. Sometimes his mouth would take the rest of him by surprise.  

The Troll King laughed, and spittle rained down over his lesser kin. Then he looked serious and his yellow eyes narrowed.

“What kind of challenge?”

“I challenge you to an eating contest, oh great Troll King,” Old Captain said.

“Ha!” said the Troll King and grabbed his own, bulbous belly, flaunting it. “I am much bigger than you. I will win.”

“Ah,” Old Captain says and holds up a hand. “On one condition.”

“You are in no shape to demand conditions,” says the Troll King.

“But I am,” Old Captain says. “You see, if you kill me, you’ll never know all the secrets of my ship, the Whimsy Wayfarer, or all the treasures I have hidden inside.”

Old Captain saw the Troll King’s eyes brighten when he mentioned the treasures. Grumbling, the mountainous creature rubbed his knobby chin.

“What is your condition then?”

“I would like to choose the food,” Old Captain said.

Troll King rolled his eyes. “Very well. What food then? But no salads!”

“Salads!” Old Captain scoffed and spit. “I’m not a monster! I want hamburgers! Big, juicy, hamburgers! With cheese, onions, and lots of mustard!”

The Troll King smiled from ear to ear showing a mouth of thin, pointy teeth. “My favorite.”

“Now let us talk stakes,” Old Captain said.

He eyed the cage dangling from the tall tree. The bird was an albatross. He’d never seen a bird so enormous. The cage could fit a man inside it and the bird was so crammed inside, his feathers jutted out between the bars.

“What do you want?” The Troll King asked.

“If I win, I want to leave this island with my crew and that bird,” Old Captain said and pointed at the caged albatross.  

The Troll King frowned and then nodded and bent down to listen to one of his troll lieutenants.

“And when I win?”

“You get to eat me and my whole crew of course!”

Old Captain’s crew erupted with cries and curses. He turned to them waving his hands down to calm them.

“And your ship?” the Troll King put a finger up and everyone was silent. “I want the treasures inside.”

“If I lose, I will tell you all her secrets and where the treasures are.”

“Yes, but how will I get them?” The Troll King asked.

“Well,” Old Captain said with a wince. “If we’re all gone then it’ll be yours. You just go out and get them.”

“Trolls can’t swim. I’ll need someone to bring them to me.”

“Very well,” Old Captain said. “I’ll bring the treasures ashore then, and you can eat me after.”  

The Troll King leaned in close from his wicker throne and smiled.

“Done!”

Old Captain felt a slight chill in his heart when he saw the Troll King’s smile.

#

The feast was set to begin the next day. As a surprise courtesy, the Troll King afforded Old Captain his own tent for the evening, out of respect for his boldness. His crew, however, would sleep in the open guarded by trolls.

That night, in his tent when he was alone, Old Captain looked at his reflection in an old, handheld mirror. He ran his tongue over a space where a tooth was supposed to be, one of his canine teeth had long been gone, a price of his many adventures.  He hoped his plan would work and took out a small amulet around his neck that he kept hidden underneath his armor. just as he was about to open it there came a sound outside. It was his first mate, Big Tamble, who came to beg him to flee.

“Cap’n,” Big Tamble said, “Ye have to get outta here sir. No way ye can out eat a troll. What’re ye thinkin?”

Old Captain smiled at his friend of many journeys and put his arm around the man’s generous shoulders.

“Don’t worry, you just keep the men ready, I’ll take care of everything.”

“What if they come after us?” Big Tamble said.

“You heard him. Trolls can’t swim,” Old Captain lowered his voice. “They think the foam in the waves is full of demons. Now, go, and keep the men ready.”

Big Tamble grumbled as he was ushered out of the tent and Old Captain watched him walk back to the crew who were sharing a fire pit. He closed the tent flap and went back to his amulet. Once opened, it revealed a shiny, gold tooth. He breathed on it and shined it on his sleeve and tucked it into the slot where his own tooth once occupied. The tooth fit perfectly. He ran his tongue over it and felt the smooth surface and smiled in the mirror. The gleam reminded him of how he got it so many years before. The memory of the harpy’s voice made him shudder.

#

The next morning, Old Captain was greeted by the smell of cooking meat. The Troll King’s entire family of hundreds of smaller trolls were hard at work putting together a feast for the ages. Twisting the hair of his long mustache, Old Captain sauntered to the feasting table and tipped his great feathered hat to his crew who waited nervously, for they knew they would surely perish if their captain failed.

 The sun peered down at the world, but more specifically, at the aging cavalier as he approached the table. The wind stopped blowing it was so curious as to what would happen. The air was thick with salt and foam and the smell of meat and the sea. Old Captain wore his signature Spanish breastplate, fashioned with French pauldrons over his favorite English ruffled shirt underneath. A decidedly German overcoat trailed behind and touched the tops of his Italian boots. A chair was made for him at the table.

The table itself was almost as long as his ship and about half as wide. Sitting there were all the Troll King’s family and lieutenants. A steaming pile of hamburgers sat in front of Old Captain and another, of equal size in front of the Troll King.

“Alright,” Old Captain said. He took his hat off and set it down gently off to the side. He took a cloth napkin and stuffed it down his collar to cover his breastplate and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s eat!”

The Troll King grinned his frightening grin and said, “Yes. Let’s.”

Old Captain ignored the chill that climbed like icy spider legs up his spine and dove into the meal. He lined up several hamburgers in a row and applied a generous amount of mustard to each one, then placed the bun on top.

The eating began and to everyone’s surprise, Old Captain kept up with the Troll King through the first ten burgers.

“I must admit,” Old Captain said. “These are quite delicious!” he smacked his lips on his fingers. “Compliments to the chef!”

Troll King shoveled burger after burger into his mouth, though the eating was starting to slow when he’d gotten past thirty burgers. “I’m -burp- so glad you like them.”

The eating continued and lasted well into the afternoon. Trolls cooked furiously as the Troll King, shocked at Old Captain’s stamina, ordered more burgers to be made. Old Captain’s crew sat by mouths dropped at the amount of food the otherwise lanky captain was putting away.

The piles of meat patties on buns had gotten so high that they obscured each eater’s vision. The Troll King started to slow down, even his legendary appetite was not enough to conquer the epic number of hamburgers Old Captain was eating.

“How, -hic- how can you eat so much?” the Troll King asked, his words difficult to get out past the food.

“Well, I was starving of course!” Old Captain dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and prepared another five burgers. “You have to have a system. That’s the trick.”

He took measured bites, four to be exact, and then downed each burger. His pile dwindled down slowly, but surely as the Troll King plowed through his in a rush. Old Captain ate, enjoying each bite and audibly so. After a time he peered around his pile of burgers waiting to be eaten and smiled at the Troll King.

“Had enough yet?”

The Troll King glowered at him. Drool and bits of bun coated his chin along with a line of ketchup mixed with mustard. The table shook with a rumbling of the Troll King’s belly and he put one of his enormous hands to his mouth. Then, what Old Captain thought was an earthquake, was really a mighty belch escaping the big creature’s lips. The Troll King leaned back and sighed with relief.

“Ah. Much better,” the Troll King said. He resettled himself and took a swig of strong troll mead. “Shall we continue?”

Old Captain’s smile faded. This was going to take longer than he thought.

“Absolutely!” he nodded and pushed another burger into his mouth. “I was getting concerned you’d lost your appetite.”

The Troll King plowed through another burger and made a sound that sounded like, “Never!”

The two ate furiously well into the night and all the way to morning. Trolls old and young came from all over the island to witness the showdown between their feared king and the old cavalier. Fires were lit and torches set about so all could see. A roaring bonfire grew. Old Captain’s crew was restless, for they had all heard the stories of the Troll King and what he did to wayward sailors who happened upon this beach. The trolls guarding them had been licking their lips and rubbing their stomachs as they taunted the crew all day long.

Then something happened. The trolls watched as their leader, his belly so engorged that it looked as though it might burst, slumped in his chair, and belched.

Old Captain, who’d been applying mustard to more hamburgers stopped and peered across the table.

“You alright over there?” he dabbed his lips with the napkin again and straightened his mustache.

The Troll King looked up with bleary eyes. He’d eaten so many hamburgers that his pupils looked like tiny beef patties. He was sweating profusely and appeared almost drunk.

“You win,” the Troll King said. “Take the bird, get off my island – hic – and never return.” He brought his hand up to wave Old Captain away but couldn’t finish the motion and slumped unconscious.

Old Captain looked around at the other trolls and found the Troll King’s second in command. He removed his bib and folded it neatly on the table.

“You heard him,” Old Captain said.

The Troll King’s lieutenant eyed Old Captain warily and then presided over the release of his crew and the lowering of the cage the albatross was in.

“You can leave him in the cage,” Old Captain said. “We’ll deal with that.”

The cage with the bird was given to Big Tamble and the crew made their way to the landing ship. Old Captain boarded the boat and his men pushed off to row back to the Whimsy Wayfarer, as the Troll King’s lieutenant watched balefully.

 “How’d you do it?” the Lieutenant asked.

The rowboat lurched in the surf as it slowly made its way to the ship. Old Captain put his hand to his ear, pretending that he hadn’t heard the question.

“What was that?” he shouted back.

He felt a prickle of fear run up his spine. He looked behind him to gauge the distance left to his ship. All he wanted now was to get back onboard as soon as possible.  

The troll repeated his question, this time much louder.

Old Captain waited to the count of ten. When his crew reached the ship and started climbing aboard, he looked back at the Troll King’s Lieutenant, now surrounded by other trolls, all watching. Just then, a lesser troll handed the Lieutenant a spy glass, taken from one of the many piles of dead sailor’s gear. The Lieutenant put the spyglass to his eye to see the old cavalier who’d defeated his king. Behind him, the Troll King groaned in pain. His crown of animal bones tilted and fell off his head and into the dirt and his tongue lolled over his chin.

“How?” the Lieutenant asked one last time, unable to hide his rage.

The sun was coming up, rising from the sea to bring a new day. Old Captain faced the dawn as he looked back at the beach and gave a big, toothy smile. The golden tooth caught the sunlight and shined.

The Cloud Factory ___________________by Bert Rock (2019)

Part One

A Story for Simon

One sunny, Arizona day, Simon went hiking with his parents and the family dog, Kokopelli. They went to Four Peaks. It was the first time Simon had ever been to this hike. It was early March and the days were not too hot yet. Simon, now six, enjoyed hiking. He especially enjoyed finding random rocks and pine cones to give to people.

Simon and his family climbed and climbed the trail upwards toward the summit. They went so high that they could see everywhere around. Simon even saw an eagle flying at eye level, floating on the wind like a friendly kite. He wondered if they would see the mountains in Flagstaff and the red rocks of Sedona, of if he could catch a glimpse of Mount Lemon in Tucson. He’d been thinking of it since they started climbing.

Simon’s parents wanted to take a break, so they ate some lunch in the shadow of the summit and sat around enjoying a light breeze. The day was warm and after a bit, they all lied down on the blanket and fell asleep. 

Simon opened his eyes to see a pillowy cloud floating over the mountain and shading them all from the sun. Then he noticed another cloud, and another, and they all seemed to be coming from somewhere on the other side of the summit. He nudged Kokopelli and she was up and ready at a moment’s notice.

“C’mon girl,” Simon said. “Let’s go take a look.”

Simon and Kokopelli went to investigate. When Simon reached the top of the mountain, he saw something moving. At first it looked like a part of the mountain, it was enormously tall, though it seemed squat at the same time. After a moment he realized, it was a giant. Simon froze.

The giant seemed not to notice him or the dog and went about dipping a stick that looked like a hollowed out STOP sign into a bottle. Just as the giant was about to take it back out he saw Simon and Kokopelli. Simon had never heard a giant squeak before. It was the strangest sound, it was almost like the sound of a train screeching to a halt.

“Oh! You scared me!” the giant said. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

Simon stared in wonder. The giant was taller than two houses stacked on top of one another and almost as wide! The giant looked at Simon and then to Kokopelli who barked and barked. The giant looked like a large kid, like one of the fourth graders in Simon’s school, only much bigger and wearing what looked like a big shirt the color of rain clouds. He was sitting down, cross-legged and Simon wondered just how tall he would be if he stood up.

“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Simon said. He put his hand out. “I’m Simon! What’s your name?”

The giant furrowed his brow and scratched his great, wide chin. “Well, nice to meet you Simon. My name is Billow.”

“Billow?”

“Yes. But you can call me Bill.”        

“Nice to meet you Bill! That’s my grandpa’s name!”

Kokopelli barked.

“Oh,” Simon said, “this is Pelli, she’s my friend.”

“Nice to meet you Simon,” Bill said. “I wish I had a friend like Pelli. She seems nice.”

“What’s that Bill?” Simon pointed to the large jar that that Bill had dipped his STOP sign stick in.

Bill the giant scratched his chin again and looked thoughtful.

“Well,” Bill spoke to himself, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you know,” the giant looked up and squared his slouching shoulders. “Simon. I’m making clouds.”

“Clouds?” Simon said and cocked his head to the side at the same time Kokopelli did. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s my job. This mountain is where I blow bubbles from to fill the sky. Watch!”

Bill took out his STOP sign stick from the huge bottle of swirling, blue, white, and gray liquid. It looked as though someone had bottled the sky itself. Then, just like when Simon would make bubbles with a plastic bubble wand, the giant blew into the hole on the stick and a big, pillowy white cloud formed right before Simon’s eyes.

“Whoa!” Simon gasped with wonder.

The cloud floated up into the sky and then started to move with the wind. Bill repeated the action several times. He made a big, tall cloud and then a few small, puffy clouds and some that were medium sized.

“That’s amazing!” Simon said.

“Thank you!” Bill said. “It’s not that amazing though, they’re just basic pillow clouds. My father says I’m not ready to make shapes in the clouds and not even close to making storm clouds.”

Simon thought Bill looked a little sad when he said this.

“Well,” Simon searched for the words. He looked at Kokopelli who cocked her head. “I think you make great pillow clouds Bill. I bet if your dad saw the great work you’re doing he’d change his mind.”

“You think so?” Bill asked. For a moment, he looked hopeful and then it changed and his massive shoulders slouched again. “I don’t know. My dad is in charge of the Cloud Factory. He makes all the clouds that fill the sky in this part of the world. I’m just starting out, so he wants me to make the simple clouds first. But I’ve been watching since I was a little one and I think I can make some clouds shaped like animals. Maybe even a thunder cloud.”

“Can I see?” Simon asked.

Bill’s eyes lit up. “Sure!”

Billow the cloud maker dipped his bubble stick in the bottle and raised it high, blowing gently at first, but then changing the angles in which he held the cloud stick. He blew with short gusts of breath until he was done. Then, Simon noticed, the cloud had taken shape and looked like a howling coyote.

“Wow! You’re really good!”

“Thanks Simon,” Bill said.

“I bet if your father saw that he’d love it,” Simon said. “I think we should show him.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Bill. “He’s pretty strict about work, and there are a lot of rules at the cloud factory.”

 “Oh. I’m so glad I met you Bill,” Simon said. “Do you think I could see the Cloud Factory?”  

Bill thought a moment. “You have to promise me you’ll keep it a secret.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Bill glanced at Pelli and the dog barked three times.

“What’d she say?” Bill asked.

“She says she won’t tell anyone,” Simon said.

The cloud maker smiled.

to be continued…

The Tortilla Tree____________________________________by Bert Rock (2019)

A Story for Simon

Simon lives in Arizona. One night at the dinner table, when he was four, Simon ate tacos and burritos with his mother, father and their friend Bert.

“Where do tortillas come from?” Simon asked.

“A tree,” Bert said.

“No they don’t!” Simon laughed.

“It’s true,” Bert said. “It’s way out past the Superstition Mountains. The Superstition Mountains are a place where everybody throws salt over their shoulders, nobody owns a ladder and all the black cats have to wear white coats.”

“Where’s the tree?” Simon’s mom asked.

“Out past Fish Creek,” Simon’s dad said.

Simon knew that Fish Creek was the favorite family hike and he couldn’t wait to go on one there soon. He also remembered that in Fish Creek, there are no fish, which made the name silly.

“That’s right,” Bert said. “The tree goes way, way, way up and almost reaches the clouds,” he used his arms to indicate how high it was. “On all the branches of the tree there are little balls of flour and when they’re ripe, they fall all the way down and hit the rocks and splat!”

“That’s how they get flat,” Simon’s dad said.

“And that’s where they name, ‘Tortilla Flat,’ comes from,” Simon’s mom said.

“That’s right!” Bert said. “The balls of flour flatten when they hit the rocks and then they get warm from the sun. Then, when they’re ready, someone who lives in Tortilla Flat comes out and flips them with a spatula the size of a snow shovel.”

“And that’s where tortillas come from,” said Simon’s mom.  

Simon looked at his mom, his dad and then Bert and they all nodded with a laugh. Simon giggled and took a bite out of his burrito. It tasted even better than it had before.  

The Tortilla Tree, posted May 23, 2019

posted May 12, 2019

Japanese Haikus ___ by Bert Rock (2006)

I wish I could write

     Japanese calligraphy

on daisy petals.

Thick black characters

    on effulgent orange like

Samurai poets

     chanting some ancient haiku,

Standing around fire

courage for the sword.  

The petals I would

     wrap tight around raspberries,

red like wet rubies,

Then place them in your

     mouth with young words and a kiss,

bless the Samurai.

I tell them go down

     find the Anger I gave her,

kill it, with Beauty.