Nevertheless, he may indeed join
us on Olympus."
The voice stopped, the clouds darkened even more. The mountain,
in the midst of day, is black as midnight.
By the sound alone he knows that Athena again reaches her hand
to him. And again a bolt from the sky separates the two.
"No! First he must prove himself worthy." The voice once more
thunders. "To win the hand of a Goddess is not an easy chore.
But, if you prove yourself, it shall be as you desire. First,
though, . . .," - and now the voice grew soft and warm with an
assumed kindness.
"Yes, first you must perform some minor chores. A few little
tasks, perhaps. Yes, that's it! A dozen or so little tasks.
Piddling things, actually. Hmmm, let me give some thought to
this."
The skies were beginning to lighten. The voice of Zeus had
softened indeed, as had his mood. The clouds were rapidly
dissipating. Blue patches of sky emerged. The dark clouds
dissipated, and small white clouds drifted gently above.
"Go home! Prepare yourself! And when I call be quick to begin
your sojourn. - Eh, yes, I think minor little chores."
It almost sounds like Zeus is humming happily to himself.
The wind whipped the leaves along the pathway, the clouds tore
asunder. And, even as he glanced back to earth, Athena, too, had
departed.
Nothing remained to reflect the tragedy that might have been.
Nothing remained to reflect the beauty and wonder of Athena. Yet
. . . .
On the ground, fluttering in the now gentle breeze, a single
memento - a pure white feather.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43