Let Us Count Seventeen Stars Till They Die : Part One

Monday.

Verily, it was said unto McOwen. With words separated from sounds, he was definite about the provenance of the chimes; accompanied by the sequence of archaic, outdated, cosmetic and still; prophetic words.

No one said ‘ye’ in these times. You would have to be fully cloaked in a different era to not have a voice in your head question you at the mention of the word, and then laugh at your person. Regardless, Owen could not hear his own voice in his own head. The sounds and worlds were noted in the vocal box of another.

In the box, probably, were heavy weight champions, pub bouncers, protocols, football referees and word class chefs. Living as custodians of the oratory strength of the owner of the box. His voice was neither husky nor feeble; neither aggressive nor fearful. It was one which magnified and magnetised peace, calm, receptiveness, attention and a likelihood to serenade.

Have you heard of Midas? And how about a Midas Touch? I will tell you a tale of a Midas Touch, as was told to me by McOwen…

… part two comes up soon. Thanks for reading.