Once there was a dragon...

I taught my two grandsons this song ... I knew a version about three dragons, each with a different colour, Red, Green or Black .. and if you were ever to meet any of them, one fine day, far away, then you must SLAY that particular dragon ... It was much appreciated and Isaak contributed a version about one dressed in Lime (full of crime), and Nathan liked the idea of one dressed in Blue (beautiful and true) and of course, this one you would greet, and say "Good day, Dragon who is dressed in blue".
Isaak's class was having a 'medieval Europe week', dressing up as knights, fair ladies, and of course, confronting dens of dragons... I was delighted to hear that they were also learning about 'stereotypes' and used ideas about dragons to break the stereotypical notion that such a monster must inevitably be full of wrath and breathing out flames. We learnt that there are friendly dragons too.
Great fun to be six years old and attend a school like that.  And thank goodness for air conditioning, though it is quite remarkable how many of these youngsters don't appear to turn a hair at air temperatures approaching 40 degrees Celsius. (The heat hits me as I open the front door to go outside, and the ground scorches my bare feet ... quick retreat into shadow before plunging into the wam waters of the nearby swimming pool.)

So it's good-bye Dubai I guess; have been visiting there for around six and a half years now, and Judy has lived there over four years. She and her family will soon be re-locating. Farewell Babylon, the huge quiet desert and the nearby misty mountains, the alluring shopping malls and the absurd sky-high towers. Like an insubstantial pageant faded ... I have already almost forgotten the boogy-woogy lights below as the plane comes in to land at night. I remember the people I met there.

Back in Finike, south Turkey, watching the sea. Wind-ruffled, rocking the boats, no chance of mast-patterns on the rippling sea. But such tranquillity here, despite the roaring lorries that zoom down the hills from Demre (shades of Sint Nikolaas) on  their way to Antalya.
We could happily stay here, going for walks along St Paul's Way, climbing up to ancient fortresses built of white stone, bleached by the Mediterranean sun, gazing into bright distances, across rolling land sprinkled with golden broom, where pine and cypress clothe the nearby hills. And in the distance the cloud-capped towers... (or mountains?)

I think so often: there is not enough time, certainly not to describe enough detail, like the hairs on a caterpillar, or write a carefully structured sonnet. But I also think: make the time you need and enjoy every moment that you have.
And now it's suppertime (red lentil soup of course, with tiny shavings of dried red chili).
Turkish delight...