The Talking Road and other Stories

There was once a man known as Professor Turkay who was a skunk exorcist. He was known in many lands for being able to rid a community of unwanted skunks.  Whenever skunks would suddenly appear in a peaceful hamlet, the Professor was never far away or far behind, and the people were always sorely thankful for his coincidental proximity.  That is, until it was discovered that the professor carried around a small herd of skunks which he would let lose in villages, and then suddenly make himself available to exorcize the pungent little darlings.  After losing this profitable occupation, it didn't take long for the professor to get sick of honest, manual labor.  So he devised a new scheme.  He grew a beard, changed his name to, Dr. Thrustmore and traded in his skunks for a sack of evil spirits. He then proclaimed himself a “spirit exorcist,” pulling the same scam now with his demons, and this-time no one ever got wise.

There was once a young boy in Turning City who made friends with a road. The road was near his house, and he would go there often.  He would sit and talk with the road when no one was travelling thereon. The boy had never been down the entire length of the road, but the road assured him that it went more than five hundred miles in either direction.  The lad continually pressed the road to tell him of the many wonderful sights to be seen, in the far away locales which the road traversed. And with some prodding, the road would indeed tell marvelous tales of

places that the boy might never see.  One day the boy's grandfather discovered his friendship with the road, and heard of the wondrous tales the road had told the boy of the faraway places. The old man grunted, and said, “Boy, that road ain't seen all those places he’s been telling you about; he ain't been nowhere... he's just what other people use to get to those places.”  And suddenly, in spite of and hidden amongst his grandfather's discouragements, the young boy understood a great secret.  You can't separate a path from the places it may go.  A destination is not separate from the journey, and the path of travel itself already touches all possible destinations. The boy smiled and wondered what kind of gift he could give to a talking road.

Who can look up when the cry is “Down”?

Who can feel squares when the object is round?

Who can move back while staying ahead?

Who can taste yellow while seeing red?

Who can stay wet when all is dry?

Who can say “how” when the question is “why”?

 While all remains flat who can see depth?

And who knows a word to rhyme with depth?

(You know, you people now tend to laugh no matter whether you get the expected, OR

otherwise.)

J.