The Midnight Train

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Or ever, for that matter. That, and the midnight train was an age-old staple of far away factory supplies being moved to and fro. These were two pillars of absolute truth that I held in my mind when moving to the Valley that, in fact, were entirely false.

Granted, when I moved in, close to a year ago now, I was lucky to see a common pigeon. The area had been inundated with so much construction; the constant grinding of the machines echoing through the air. It was as though the surrounding wildlife had given a collective 'Screw that!' to the entire subdivision.

And who could blame them? I mean, even the soil was filth - a blend of sticky clay and discarded wood chipping covered by a roll of run-of-the-mill lawn turf. My reach goals entailed keeping a plant alive for more than a single season and convincing the passing crows to fly low enough to notice the treats I'd taken to piling on to the fence in desperate attempts of acceptance.

Fast forward to three weeks ago.

The morning of the 'Green Sighting' per my journal.

It was a typical spring morning as I stepped outside for what was becoming my morning ritual of greeting the 'garden' with the dawn. I'd clung to my mug of coffee for warmth as I walked up and down the pathway talking to the monochromatic dirt as I had been for months. That's when I spotted it, the bit of green peeking out from a grouping of wood chips. I bent down to marvel at its glory, exchanging the mug for the phone in my pocket.

The garden, my garden, had life!

Once I felt that the moment had been properly documented, I moved to retrieve my coffee and continue on with my morning. That's when I noticed the second bit of green. A tiny lizard had balanced on the mug's rim.

The garden had yet to host a lizard. First the sprout sighting and then this...definitely a journal worthy morning.

To my further surprise, the lizard seemed entirely unbothered by my gentle coaxing away from their chosen heat source. Ignoring me completely as they dipped below the rim, only to come up moments later flicking their tongue over their face.

It was drinking my coffee!

I didn't have a clue as to whether or not that was at all safe for their little system, but I didn't want to chance it. I shooed the creature away with more force.

That's when things took a turn for the... weird.

Instead of scampering off, the lizard held their claim of my coffee cup. Moving into an aggressive stance as they opened their mouth to let out a flutter of sparks before blinking at me once, twice and then stretching their body back down into the mug. I sat frozen where I crouched on the pathway, staring at the scene before me as that first pillar of truth crashed down around me.

Dragons were real after all. They were here, in the Valley. In my garden.

I shook my head, mentally forcing the pillar fragments back into place as I moved my glasses to pinch the bridge of my nose.

This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.

My friends had warned me how my hyper focus towards my pursuit of the local wildlife on top of my already hermit-ish behavior was a dangerous combination.

Swallowing a deep breath, I turned back to the mug. It sat empty of inhabitants, its steam curling up into the morning air. I assured myself that it had just been a trick of my un-caffeinated imagination as I gathered my things and headed inside.

The days that followed were disappointingly anticlimactic as I wavered constantly between hunting the property for further proof... of dragons, assuring myself that I'd know what I was looking for when I spotted it, and chiding myself for really needing to get out more. A week passed and nothing could be found hidden in the dirt or shifting in the shadows. No great winged things passed by in the sky above me aside from the, now familiar, crows swooping in for their late morning snack.

Another week went by and I spotted two more lizards, each camouflaged in the bright green or mottled stone coloring of their chosen sunspot. Yet, despite how long I made myself wait, no sparks flickered when they opened their mouths. Only the quick flash of their tongue to catch a passing bug. I began to truly believe the words I had told myself that morning.

Dragons didn't exist. Not in the Valley, at least. Definitely not in my garden. It had just been a trick of un-caffeinated daydreaming.

Fast forward to this morning.

What should have been the morning of a bonding milestone.

The cawing echoed through the kitchen. I'd been late with their breakfast, not used to the earlier sunrise just yet, but this seemed excessive. Peering out the window, I let out a huff to see the lone crow perched above a generous pile of food.

Spoiled.

This one was especially big with full feathers that appeared to be a fluffy brown in the sun. A thought of leadership passed through me, but I'd yet to truly tell them apart.

Goals.

The crow quieted as I studied them, turning their head this way and that as they watched me watching them. I jutted my chin towards the food below their feet and went back to loading the dishwasher. The cawing started again.

How'd the saying go?

If a crow cries, they're either: alerting of food. This was the last one to arrive, so not that. Trying to scare off a perceived threat. Both of my boxer boys were inside and passed out on the couch, so no worries there. Or, trying to get your attention. I dropped the sponge, forgoing the rest of the dishes.

Was this really happening? Were we finally going to be 'in the yard at the same time' level of friends?

I rushed outside, trying to move as calmly as possible despite my excitement. The crow waited until I was three steps away before flying off with a final caw.

Progress.

I had been so focused on testing my proximity that I almost missed the crumpled bit of off white tucked into the fence corner. It had become a nearly daily counseling that I gave myself, when coming across yet another article of how other people's crow acquaintances left them shiny trinkets, that such things didn't matter. That their presence was the gift. That being said -

OMG, this was my first crow trinket!

I rushed to retrieve the item, discovering that it was a small torn bit of aged paper.

Cue the direction shift back to weird.

I unfolded it to find a short note written in a bold script, accentuated with smatterings of minuscule burn marks around the edges.

Your presence is requested on the next train. Be at the far end of the lake come midnight of the next full moon. Also, please bring another cup of that scrumptious liquid you had in the garden.

Train... midnight...

My thoughts spun as the second pillar of truth came crashing down, bringing the first along with it. The next full moon. That was tonight.