The essay below is my submission to the STSC Symposium, a monthly set-theme collaboration between STSC writers. The topic today is - much to Thomas J Bevan’s dismay - “Dinosaurs.” Under the fan shade of the Ginkgo tree, I inspect the ridges of your warted covering. My deprived eyes raise the tumescent tubercles from the surface of your slumbering body; they are curious at my curiosity. I stand at the face of your prone bones, yet still eye to eye because of your size. When will you wake and drench me in your humid breath? My very own rainforest. You can be Climate while I play Catastrophe. Others could only exhale with localized accuracy so that my neck was wet while my shoulders were dry, but you wetten me from skull to sole. Let me climb your spiny tail and dig my pelvis into your dorsality until we become one articulated lumber of trample and chomp.
I reread this today just to indulge in this wonderful warm bath of fantastical words.
Wetten, catechistic, tumescent tubercles ...
A wealth of riches for my parched cranium.