The Elephant & the Donkey
The feeling was in the air again. Like many holidays, it felt like the celebration was coming earlier and earlier every year. All across the land, from the purple mountains majesty to the amber waves of grain, The People gathered together in their quaint and crumbling town centers, scribbling down their wishes for the magical Elephant and Donkey.
They came from an enchanted land of beautiful white marble castles and great granite wizards. While normally they would never leave the safety of their hallowed halls, it was now the season for them to walk amongst the common folk, weaving wonderful tales for the young and old alike. Their silver tongues would speak of mystical things like steady employment or the legend of healthcare, the eyes of The People brimming with tears.
While many would gather to see them in the public squares, there wasn’t always room for everyone. To ensure that no one might miss this joyous time, gifted minstrels and artisans would take to quill and ink and song, recounting the stories and poetry of the beloved Elephant and Donkey. They shouted from the rooftops and barked in the streets, gathered around the hearths of homes and pubs, interpreting the high language of these blessed beasts that was so often beyond the simple-minded masses, into more manageable proverbs and parables. This was their service to the community, and they did it, oh so well indeed.
While The Elephant and Donkey were clearly benevolent and selfless creatures, they too could not survive on bread alone. So in return for all of the great and mysterious blessings they had been bestowed, The People would give back, collection plates passing from home to home, filling with whatever meager treasures they could spare. Their offerings, while small, would grow large from the sheer number of calloused and cracked hands bearing gifts. It was their privilege, and it brought happiness to their otherwise mundane lives.
While the glory of these demigods was absolute, and most fell into line, picking their favorite of the pair as was tradition, there were some heretics who dared question this truth. Scabs of society that whispered of a different, and better way of doing things, departing from the holy writings of their leaders and their corporate brothers. These radicals spoke of empathy for all, even the weak and destitute, preaching that the very sky above would burn if the nations did not heed their call and change their deeds. These clever “facts”, while repeated by the most studied and learned thinkers, thankfully fell on deaf ears to those most pious amongst us, those whose faith in the Elephant and Donkey never wavered.
These monks of crimson and cobalt, defended their lords, ensuring that things would continue as they always had since ages past. The greed of widows and children be damned, these witches of mercy be burned. They understood there could only be two true leaders, and they worshipped dutifully.
So it was, with the leaves changing and the winds of winter at the door, our masters embraced us in their bosom once again, reassuring their subjects of their unfailing kindness and compassion. Soon they would be returning to their palaces with an embarrassment of riches, yet they had no shame, nor should they. There’s was the hard trod path of righteousness.
The People lamented in their doorways as The Elephant and Donkey disappeared from view, off to fight the good fight for them, protecting the much-needed peace as they always did. With their stores of provisions laid bare, family and friends gathered together and warmed their hearts, recounting the memories of another season already growing to a golden and gossamer veneer in their heads. That Wednesday in November was always sad, but before you knew it, the wait would be over. It would be Election Day once again.
