According to the old legend, the mighty birds, whose powerful talons could easily carry a castle, arrived each spring to bring people the thunder, and the first true downpour of summer. When they flapped their wings, large sparks ignited the clouds.

The large table was covered in books, as always, somebody must have been working on their metaphysics’ thesis, because that seemed to be the theme of the table this time, with mounds of books spanning from religion to philosophy, and a lot of psychology in between.

He took a few minutes to get settled, grabbed a sandwich from the refrigerator under the bar, and poured himself a drink. He was exhausted after the party he’d just left and grateful to have a quiet moment to himself.

You get mixed up in stories and legends and soon you can’t distinguish them from facts anymore, because history and legend are uninterrupted threads twining through the fabric of time, and events and meanings connect across centuries, all part of a greater whole we could see if we lived long enough.