A HORSESHOE OF ROSES Millions of years ago astrologers taught people how to fly. They did?      Yes, they flew slowly at first, the traditional skirts flapping around their thighs as they rose into a blue abyss. What a dream! Less than      two decades later the gun was invented, and any historian worth a penny will tell you that it was all downhill from there. I’ve heard of this.      Rambling city senators, huge tracks, and statues which cost fortunes to build and more to maintain. Moatless ranches also came into vogue      during that time. Lord have mercy. But bad times will come, that much we’ve learned. It’s the youthful levity that predicates those times which we must      hang like a garland around the neck of the next generation. I’ll remember you said it. Then they’ll be safe, and with any luck they’ll behave      like the charming little monsters we dreamed of. Whom shall I say–? Until 10,000 trees and clouds rise and fall into their pools, and their kids      find them in a minty bed of chlorine, face down. They will be nicely aged. Who has sent me? They will have long wills, long white hair hooping      out like mops, moving at the speed of classical music into heaven’s ocean. Aaron Belz