The Garden Dragon

Every time she went outside she had to pick the wooden statue up. Nestled under a shrub, on top of some slate chippings, stood the carved Chinese-style dragon, its beady gold eyes peering out at the patio. Parts of the wood had turned green in places, giving its scales and beard a verdant tint. She wasn’t sure what caused it to fall, she always made sure to place it firmly on flat ground. Perhaps a cat would brush against it while prowling for birds, or a wing would knock it over as the birds pecked under the bush for bugs and seed.

Setting the washing basket down, she quickly smoothed out the slate, righted the statue, and returned into the house to get started on the ironing.

 

As soon as the back door and utility room door shut the garden dragon roused itself to undulate through the air, chasing the glistening dragonflies that visited from the neighboring pond.

 

“Oh what in the-” She sighed, looking at the dragon sprawled out on the slate once more. Going through into the garage to get dinner from the freezer would have to wait for a moment. Crouching, she carefully set the dragon statue vertical once more and bopped its nose with her finger. “You stay where you are.”

She didn’t expect it to listen to her. Her kids barely did.

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