I am flopping around from one thought to another. Never checking where the rest of my body is because my face is posted to this screen. This one was written after too much shredded wheat.

( This, for the dog lovers in us)

We are only Servants in the Castle

I was bestowed the responsibilities as steward, at a castle, found in these United States of America, in the great first state of Delaware, located in a small town called Briggsville, on a dead end street named Endless Road, placed in a setting surrounded by other castles of pleasant fortitude. This being my position for many seasons with my wife, Suzanne, of seventeen years and our daughter, in servitude training, Samantha, at the age of sixteen. We were the last of several servants left to keep the castle and grounds up until the next royal came to inhabit its chambers. We had many lonely cycles of the moon awaiting the next heir to the throne.

One evening a rider appeared at the gate bringing news of a young Prince being born in a distant land. We were asked to gather him from his keepers and to raise and teach him in the ways of royalty until such a time when he had matured to a stature to sit at the throne.

He was of a distinguished line of royalty having been sired by Braxton Hix Youngblood and dam by Curious Georgette of Misty Mountain. His security detail was all but killed or captured during a plot to overthrow the throne during his birth. He was hid among other children, being taken care of by a mysterious clan, named the Mennonites, which lived in the rolling hills of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

We left immediately, under the cloak of darkness and arrived at the farm of Glendon Strite by midmorning. He was a man of poverties standing 5’2” tall. He wore tattered clothes beneath a heavy apron made of pieces of oxen hide that had been sewn together like a patchwork quilt. His scruff beard hung down below his plump belly and the floppy, dust covered hat he wore drooped over his intelligent blue eyes. Glendon inspected our credentials and hurried to a barn close by. He returned with the child, just freshly weaned, from his dry nurse, a week before.

The Prince was a handsome child, being fully furred, head to toe, with golden hair and floppy ears. His tongue hung out from the side of his mouth and he squirmed in excitement of our arrival. Glendon told us the Prince had not been given a name to keep him safe from harms way. We told him we would give the Prince a name, of a commoner, that would not be obvious to would be assassins.

The Prince was placed on the ground and allowed to stretch his legs and lighten his load for the long trip ahead. He had learned to move quite quickly across the ground on all fours, but the grace in his steps, was still misplaced, as he wobbled, fell and rolled without accord. My wife picked him up to brush the dirt off his boxy head and he lathered her with licks so furious to put out a fire. We thanked Glendon for his service, with two silver coins, and started our journey home.

On the trip home we decided to give the Prince a name. Our choices would have to remain within the names of the people of modest means and couldn’t sparkle from your mouth as it was spoken. I had recently befriended a man who had been shipwrecked on an island for several years. He told me that over the years on the island the loneliness grew unbearable to the point where he thought insanity was upon him. One day a round, soft, ball, used during a sport of that time, appeared on the beach. He painted a face on it and put grass from the island, within holes, in the top of it, for hair. His will had kept him sane and the Son of God had delivered this life saving companion to him. Hence fore, he called his friend Wilson.

The name Wilson seemed to be fitting for the Prince as it came out of great hardship and perseverance and it was a name from those of modest means. So it came to be that the first son of the mighty Sir Braxton Hix Youngblood, of the clan of Golden Retriever, on the 12th day of Grateful Blessing, in the month of full harvest, within the year one hundred score and three, from the great town of Lancaster, would be called Prince Wilson. It was then we realized the Prince had not lightened his load enough.

Come back for the future adventures of Prince Wilson. Coming soon.. Princess Grace enters Prince Wilsons life and the Court Jester Copper, gets his laughter back.