The Musical Farmer...

In the mysterious mountains between Nepal and India, where you can buy an acre of Opium for 50 sheets. The painted faced Sadhu shaman stand on one leg, smoking Pot and performing yoga. All whilst a long grey bearded farmer tends to his crop of magical Elephant eggs.

The smell of Jasmine from the growing eggs seeps through the skin, and huge trees bend at the end. The velvet coated babies glow in the dark, weighing heavily, stretching branches to their seams.

Yousef the farmer is an ancient being. At 300 years old he tends his Elephants with care, Tibetan blood flowing through his crinkled brown veins. He's a centuries old creature, with long curly nails, plats in his hair, and red green blue paint covers his crackled face.

Growing magical Elephants is not a simple task, you must grow the eggs playing musical tunes. The sun hangs low in the misty sky, as the farmer plays his flute under the trees, helping the eggs grow.

Yousef rides through his farm on the back of an Elephant named Mamboota, a keepsake from a decades old harvest. Watching as backpack gap years pay the guarding Yogi a few sheckles, wondering in awe.

A magic Elephant egg can take a whole year to grow.

It seeps mystery through the air, and delivers a constant heavy heart beat. Thumping along, to accompany Yousef's sweet melodies, as he sits below the growing violet shells.

Yet cautious he must be, as he plays his songs.

A magic Elephant is a gift from ancient Gods he must appease, to harvest his crop. A danger his must submit, and pleasure the eons, to deliver his eggs.

Dare play a song they don't like, and Monty Python like boots come down from the clouds. Huge cartoon like feet, squashing a whole tree of eggs, straight into the ground.

To Buddhist temples he goes, to sell his new born calves, a dangerous trip through mile high rocks.

Just one magical Elephant is worth a thousand notes, a cost to any buyer that all would accept. A purchase worth paying, to receive a new born's magic, letting it etch into hearts.

The farmer tethers babies to sell to Mabootas tail, riding slowly through hills, playing his flute. His caravan moves carefully, along secret mountain top tracks, deep cliff drops beneath.

The Sadhu shaman bow as he passes, showing fealty to the farmer, as they bend legs round heads.

The more twisted the Yogi, the more magic they collect. Yousef throws Elephant tree leaves into the air, showing appreciation for loyalty, as they spin on one leg.

In the mountain top temples, exiled Shaolin monks practice balancing on beams, between Kung Fu fighting.

A single Elephant helps the monks do feats impossible, a cheap price they see to become invincible.

Breaking concrete slabs with their hands, and crushing rocks with their heads. They walk on fire hot coals, and fight without defeat.

A market type sale, off trails you can't see. An exchange of coins, villagers provide. To the monks daily sacrifice, defenders of the weak.

Yousef the ancient musical farmer, growing Elephants for life.

A flute playing wisdom, that the Gods permit.

Smoke filled skies, lie above his old farm.

A wonderful kingdom of sweet music, and glowing, magical Elephant eggs.

© 2020 All Rights Reserved Robert Reid