The old monks in their orange robes are chanting, this advesperate afternoon their low voices like trombones permeate the large chamber in this ancient temple I slip quietly, uninvited into an empty spot in the circle their heads bow slightly an understated gesture to acknowledge my presence the chanting continues undisturbed whilst they rejoin an old friend and trumpets announce the warm reception proper of a dragon desirous of their company as it would for anyone joining the circle I sit quietly, my dark scales glistening in the light of the fires that surround us my breath rasping in its usual manner as I inhale the darkness in the chamber and they fear, that my exhale may turn to fire but we are polite, and careful with our tails mindful of small creatures, and their chants thus we all sit together as brothers atop pristine mountain peaks and just hum continuously [15-XI-2024]