Frying Pan

At first I thought I was hearing things; a flute in a copse of trees. Then I thought I was seeing things; a woman wrapped in furs playing that flute.

Behind her — wild animal’s – each under her flouting influence. It took everything in me not to fall in line and follow.

Then I saw the half-man, half-goat, carrying an iron skillet, bleeding and stumbling as if dazed.  It was then I realized that the woman, whomever she was, had kicked Pan’s ass, duncing him in the head with the frying pan, before stealing his flute.

“Perhaps they’re married,” I smiled.