I wish I had a a mystical Chinese dragon as a pet, a friend, a companion. He would talk, and travel with me in my hand bag, his red tail flicking out or on my shoulder or flying by my side. He would, of course, have the power to make himself invisible if ever we were around those who condemn mystical Chinese dragons. (You know the type.) And my dragon would always be there for me, whispering encouragement when I am down congratulating me when I succeed, and whenever I was feeling lost in the world he would find me. And the thousands of years of experiences he had collected on this earth would be compounded into a few erudite sentences, and he would give me these pearls of wisdom to adorn my soul. Yes, my mystical Chinese dragon and I would travel the world together. As we attempted to relive the magic of the most ancient of civilizations he would whisper in my ear what had really happened (because he had actually been there.) And on rainy days we would immerse ourselves in the richest things of life, reenacting Shakespeare, pondering Plato, admiring D’vinci. And on sunny days my mystical Chinese dragon and I would frolic in the park enjoying the warm light, and if we ever saw anyone else with their mystical companion we would join up enjoying the silence of each other’s company as day settled into dusk. My mystical Chinese dragon would travel though life with me, and our companionship, friendship love for each other would be so strong, that instead of dying, when our times came we would turn into wisps of smoke, our flesh falling back into the dust that first created Adam our souls disappearing into the wind, becoming the whispering spirits of the breeze.