When the Sphinx was young and the world was not yet round, she asked the Elements, Of what shall I be Made?
The Elements, taking a break from their incessant turbulence and conflict, said, There is a choice to be, for we are four, Earth, Air, Fire and Water. You must choose your milieu and dominion.
The Sphinx, fresh minted and lately removed from her mother, the Djinn’s, embrace, said, Make your presentations that I may decide.
Then the Air flew around the Sphinx, turning her in a cyclone of fury and said, This is how I created your mother, who is and you may follow in her wind, bending the trees and suffocating the rooves of the dwellings until they are torn asunder.
Out of the darkness of night and in the light of day I am bound to lift the wings of migrating swallows in their turn transporting.
If you choose to embrace the Air,
Your great limbs will be of hurricanes carved, with curling zephyrs around the edge to keep you warm.
Your mighty head, a thundercloud raising up, higher and higher until it cannot support and your tears will cause the destruction of many small irrigation ditches.
Your back, a cold front drawn in closing lines upon the chart, which describes your passing.
Your tail,
Tell me about my tail, said she Sphinx, enraptured by the sound of aeolian playing the harp.
Ah, said the Air, Your tail will be in rainbows woven, all the colours of our universe blending and separate in constant flow, with lightning issuing from the far tip ending, sending forth the bolts and sheets of light across the dim corners and darkened bedroom walls of children.
Your paws, thunder in the distance, breaking the trees low, are girt with claws of wind, iced and bitter, stolen from the polar storms to become your weapon and toolkit of choice.
Your face, a summer breeze, so warm and delicate that they will not see you coming.
Then of course there are your eyes, your eyes that see in spectrum broad, the dark Xray and Infrared are fashioned in your future form from devils gathered in the dust of greater deserts than we know, all gathered up to twist and caper in the darkness of your eyes. You will see the attack ships on fire, the atom spitting and rejoined, the construction lines, hid beneath the daily plays, the subtle shades and histories, past and future, laid bare for your intense scrutiny.
In the blinking of your eye, a wind shall challenge and confront your enemies and their lackey foot soldiers. Any questions? said the Air in completion.
What, inquired She Sphinx, shall be my metier and past times? Shall I fly permanently around the world, riding upon the jet stream which has another name before the jet was invented?
You may blow wheresoever you wish, said the wind. Under the door in winter or through the washing that dries.
Will it permit me to partake of barley cakes with the wise men, spit the sand from my mouth when the Bedouin shake their tents, look aloft in wonder as the lanterns drift up across the river in the Yangsee delta. Will I be able to watch the armies collide in powerful lines when the kings are bent on power and plunder?
No, said the Air, you will be bound to scour the wilds and whistle at my demand.
I must decline your kind offer, said the Sphinx, that’s as maybe. Although I may keep the eyes if you don’t mind.
And so began She Sphinx with eyes alone.
