The question surfaces. Finally. It is as follows: Which historical figures would I treat to delectable dinner of beats, yams, and polish dogs? Lets brainstorm. A young Earth child like me simply must send out invitations to Woody Guthrie, Mary Oliver, Rachel Carson, Edward Abbie and the eleagant Henry David Thoreau, right? Major pitfall. In fact, recent writers have perished unexplainably after publishing stories where these five characters meet. Not to mention they certainly wouldn’t all agree on the menu, which would necessarily result in calamitous slamming of wooden chair legs, accusations of “tax payer!”, "You ain't got the Do-Re-Me", and countless pretty palindromes.
I suppose the encounter would have its due benefits. For one the group would, I hope, agree on the destination. Out of the urban interface. Perhaps on a slope. Perhaps in Idaho or Montana. And Arrow and Oliver and Carson and Abbie and Thoreau would each have something to pen and ink the day following the folly. Maybe they’d write regarding the green underbelly’s poor decision to bring them all together in one festivity. This might lead them to a question of their own. Why didn’t the host dabble in debate or converse? The answer to this would be a simple one. Who wants to pepper your magical guests with questions? I’d rather not lead the path, but of course, listen to which high green horse had taken one too many steam engine rides. Or which of these artists, after seeing such a twentieth first century, would give such a morsel of wisdom about sustainability that each of the others would bend down their hairy ears and wink. I don't know what I'd give for that little kernel of truth about a better future.
However, the most curious of curious revelations could only be had when each revealed their own picks for a historical dream dinner. Nuk Nuk.
