Aunt Velma and I have gone fishing. With a boat filled right up to the top with squirming crawfish, we row back to her little shack where the water meets the woods. A large metal black pot fragrant with herbs, corn on the cob, onion, sausage, and all of the fixings is ready and waiting.
I drop all of the crawfish into the huge pot while auntie chases a hostile, blue-green, florescent, six -foot chicken through the yard to add to the pot. It gives so much resistance that she decides a better idea is for us to saddle up, jump on the back of the bird, and take an aerial tour of the Gulf.
We find ourselves flying over the Sahara Desert on this chicken and auntie dazzles me with a story that there is an ocean of sweet water under the desert, and there are people whose job it is to make this water surface and emerge onto the desert, and flow into the Age of Aquarius. I marvel at the immense amount of goodness that will flow in the new era that is now concealed by the mirage of vast barrenness.