The Dragon of Central Park
Short Story
By Karl Kliparchuk
The Dragon of Central Park – Part 1
It was a foggy Fall morning
in Burnaby’s Central Park.
The trees brilliant, sparkled
with ice crystals, my breath
formed perfect miniature snowflakes
and beneath my boots
the frozen crunch of grass.
Above, I hear branches crack.
But cannot see the culprit.
Maybe the roosting crows
have awakened for the day
to shed their frosty capes.
Forward through the bejewelled
landscape of brown branches,
green cedars and grasses,
I strolled as the cracks continued.
And then it happened.
In the blink of an eye.
A dragon alighted in my path
stared at me with its large
glassy aquamarine blue eyes.
A dragon as big as an elephant, with
scales like decorated Chinese fans,
iridescent green with tinges, tints, and tones
of red from the salmon that it
enjoys for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,
as she told me this Fall morning.
“Would you like a ride?” she inquired
in such a clear, friendly tone. Not
what I'd expect from a dragon.
“Let me take you above the fog,
the clouds and show you the wonders
of Burnaby and beyond”. I nodded
as I can’t decline a dragon’s offer,
climbed aboard, held tightly to her neck
and were off. Through the clouds...
Burnaby is a jewel with evergreens,
a mountain, lakes, and twinkling traffic lights,
red, yellow, and green which I see
beneath my dangling feet.
We swoop and glide above the city
without a sound or inkling
of my neighbours below.
“It’s 7am, and today’s news” rings
in my ears. My eyes slowly open
as I feel myself, warm safely in bed.
I wonder about my salmon-tinted dragon
dream as I head outdoors to walk
through Central Park and listen
for crackling branches above.
Part 2 - Clara, the Dragon of Burnaby
Lights out, the day’s weight
lifted, I feel the sandbags
weigh down my eyelids.
Do I have wings?
My arms are not feathered
but I rise from bed, float
out my bedroom window,
into up in the Fall
evening air.
Through the clouds,
I’m giddy with my defeat
of gravity, but as I poke my head
above the puffy clouds,
I am startled...
by my iridescent green and salmon
tinted dragon, as she is shocked
by my appearance as well.
“You can fly?” inquired Clara.
“It appears so, and you are not
a dream I dreamt yesterday?”
“I spoke to you through your dream,
child, it’s easier to suspend disbelief.
I’ve watched you grow up,
I want to share my journey with you.”
“In your dreams, each night,
we will meet in the clouds
under the twinkling stars.
Together we will explore
the tops of mountains,
visit yetis, float along rivers,
feast on sockeye salmon,
watch the sun rise
from the North Pole,
maybe circle the moon
if we feel brave.”
“For now, back to your bed,
as sunlight slips through your blinds,
and you arise from your sleepy state,
write about your adventures,
make people believe again
in the magic that surrounds us all.”
With a flash of her shimmering tail,
Clara dove down like a crack of lightning,
through the downy clouds,
dragging me in her wake,
as I tumbled to my home,
my cosy bed, my literary future.
Part 3 - Clara Reminisces
Nights pass
with fully formed dreams
or maybe reality in dream time
with Clara by my side.
Clara flies much faster
than me, like a fly
versus an arrow.
Each night I hug Clara,
tightly around her
beautifully coloured neck,
her scales reflect moonlight
as we explore the world.
We visit pyramids one night,
panthers in the Amazon jungle,
penguins in Antarctica,
and polar bears up north.
Each night always ended
on Burnaby Mountain, seated by
the “Playground of the Gods”,
wooden totems, joining indigenous
folk from the BC west coast to
the indigenous people, the Ainu,
in Northern Japan.
Clara spoke one evening
in a hushed tone, eyes lowered
telling me when she left Japan
one night only to find and fall in love
with Burnaby, its mountains,
towering cedars, mighty
Fraser River and the Salish Sea.
These wooden totems reconnect
Clara with her first home,
one she promises to share
with me when the time
is right, when the cherry blossoms
bloom across Japan.
For now we perch
on the mountain, view the
twinkling lights of the city
below us and the vast
darkness of the ocean
all the way to Japan.
Part 4 - Clara Visits Sankeien Garden
As the pink petals stir
from their cherry tree limbs,
Clara’s longing awakens.
It’s sakura time in Japan.
As I arise from my bed, unaware,
to meet Clara in the clouds,
she twitches and twirls about.
“I feel the sakura of Sankeien Garden
in Yokohama, my birth place.
I hear them gently flutter,
the bees gorging on the pollen,
It’s time to visit my home.
Hop aboard.”
My arms stretch outward,
around Clara’s neck
as best as you can with a scaled dragon.
Hold tight, we are off,
west, west, west, in a flash
like lightning cracks the sky
till we are in the Far East.
“I’ve cherished these gardens,
these blossoms, guarded them
for hundreds of years with my family.
Grandfather, Ryūjin, the most powerful
sea dragon of Japan, instilled my love,
my care for these gentle petals.
Needed by poets, to renew their love,
their joy of nature, to sit and observe,
fill their minds with images to fill
multiple books with rhyme.”
“At Ryūjin’s request I brought
these beautiful inspirations,
the sakura, across the oceans,
to western lands. With my favourite sakura,
bundled on my back, I travelled the world,
carefully planting each branch,
watered with my tears,
until I reached Burnaby, many years ago.
I settled here admiring the sakura as they
grew and spread, pinkness, joyfulness.
I’ve seen more full moons here than there are
days in a year. Although I am more than
600 years old, the yearly cycle of the sakura
rejuvenate me.”
“I cherish our time in Sankeien Garden
as we float together on the koi pond,
admiring the pink petals around us.
Soon I must return you safely home,
but now you know the power
of the sakura and my legacy.”
The sakura blooms
Not knowing, it’s beauty inspires
Poets, children, dragons.
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