The Children of Awphtha McGlyph

The Children of Awphtha McGlyph

It was no use. Nothing was working. I put my 
sketchbook down and sat watching the creek flow, 
gazing at the wishy riffles and listening to the washy 
gurgles. Longing for something I don't know what. 

Mysteriously, "something" glided down from the cliff 
above and --suddenly there she was! Right in front of 
me. The last of the evening sunlight slanting through the 
transparency of her golden hair. Her dress the most 
colorful design ever anyone can imagine. 

Her spontaneous monolog, delivered in a rhythmic 
ancient brogue, was even more colorful. But I'll be 
damned if I can remember it. Except for the bit about, 
"joehmp awph atha glyph and grew yooher wengs ahn 
tha waehy down" ... 

This I can say, she is very fertile, and many are the 
offspring that sprung from those places she dropped 
over to. 

drawings and poem by Reuben Sorensen