a gargoyle not from pottery barn

Arriving home well after the little ones had gone to bed, nothing I could have said or done would have awakened them. Oh, to sleep so soundly, per chance to dream so colorfully. That moment was a dream for all I cared. A good one. Steady, firm, intended, predicted even. Those moments were the result of nose-to-the-grind-stone spread sheet focusing, pleasing the boss, wooing the client kind of efforts that got one home this time of night and somehow it will all work out and be worth it kind of sacrifices.

The vision brought the feeling I had the first time I saw the old television version (was it by Hallmark? was I their age then? was it that long ago?) of Peter Pan. Except the kids were asleep. No big dog named Nana. No Tinkerbell. About the flying green-clad kid, though, I wasn’t too sure.

Avoiding the concrete path to the porch stairs as usual, the expedition was as usual through the weighted dangling branches of the silver maple. Dark on one side, almost glistening on the other, leaves swept across my face and over my bald head, fallen twigs crackling under my footsteps. The big squirrel was more active than I’d noticed for this time of night. It was bigger than I noticed before. Bolder, too, perched at the roof’s edge like a piece of sculpture whose placement its artist had given thought.

Source: Flickr Creative Commons

It wasn’t a squirrel. It was a gargoyle, I could tell the difference easily. I fell in love with it immediately. What a concept. Who would have thought of placing a gargoyle at the edge of a roof about thirty feet above a suburban lawn? Perhaps a gargoyle would think to do so. More likely the gargoyle would do so without thinking. What thought was required? Just do it. It’s the natural thing. Which is probably why our gargoyle looked so naturally positioned.

He is not of clay or plaster, we have learned. And we have named him Vesparo, not knowing his real name or if even he has one. He answers to Vesparo and he eats the handbills, circulars and advertisements left on our porch and lawn. To our knowledge he does not eat those who leave the handbills, circulars and advertisements left on our lawn. Vesparo is close to the family of geckos who congregate on our porch ceiling. They get on well, joking and playing games into the early morning.

So, when I tell everyone we have a gargoyle on the roof of our house in our quiet suburban neighborhood, how nice, they must think, for this time of year, all hallows and all that. But, no. This is the real thing. I don’t think he’s going anywhere. We love him, Vesparo. He is real. He is very much alive, as are, as far as we know, all of the children who live on our street and in our neighborhood.

Possibly related posts: (automatically generated)

• Related posts on gargoyle
• Spooky & Scary Buildings & Architecture | Styleture.com – notable …
• Window Terminology (k-z) | Online Games Press
• Nadia, the Secret of Blue Water – Dhiren Shah’s Blog