E iti noa ana nā te aroha
“Some want bells & whistles; some just a cardboard casket. Some send their loved ones off in a golden shroud & a flash car; others, well, they can’t get rid quick enough, no-frills, nothing fancy. A sheet, a hole in the ground, or a can of gas, & a match!
"The box in the very middle," the man pointed. "You see it? The one with the red and yellow stripes. That box contains nightmares. I bought them about ten years ago. Never sold one, not a single nightmare, so I put them back in here five years ago. Now I need the space, so I want to get rid of them."
Unafraid, I welcomed him. With a subtle cold breeze blowing, I beckoned him closer, sympathetically throwing golden leaves before him, laying a soft autumnal path. As usual, there were no birds to frighten into the skies. Superstitious and afraid; they had not rested, roosted, nor nested anywhere near me for many years. Wary, fear of guilt by association, they stayed away.
This story received a lot of hate, especially in the States, where I was accused of being a paid propagandist for the Democrats. Amazing!
“Do you want to die?” Fly asked.
Roly Andrews - Story Teller 
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