I set the last fork on the table and stepped back, soaking in the breathtaking sight before me. The golden afternoon light streamed through the windows that lined the left side of the room, bathing the dark oak table in a glow that shone on the silverware and caused the crystal wineglasses to glitter and gleam. A sitting room was opposite the windows, filled with aged leather chairs and a hand-carved table. A broad, stone gray fireplace, containing the last blood-orange embers of a long dead fire, sat directly behind the hand-carved table. Candles flickered from their place on the dining room table, and filled the room with a warm, vanilla aroma, which was intermingled with the delicious ...view middle of the document...
Smiling, I ushered him into the living room and returned to the kitchen, this time to fetch him the cold glass of water — no salt — he had so kindly asked for. When the bell rang once more, as I was pulling the roasted chicken from the oven, I quickly set it down on the counter and dashed toward the door, only to see Athena had already let Artemis in, and they were giggling like schoolgirls. They both turned in my direction, and Artemis nodded toward me, while brushing a light brown strand of hair off her beaming, pale face before turning back to Athena to continue their conversation.
Ten minutes later, the table was laid with a bounty of mouthwatering food, ranging from chicken to fish to a fresh salad, and we were all seated around it. After everyone had filled their plate to their satisfaction, Athena began the conversation, asking how "everyone's day was."
"Excellent," Artemis replied, "I went swimming with the nymphs and spent the rest of the day practicing archery with the girls."
"So you ran around shooting things? Productive." Poseidon teased, a smirk spreading across his face. Artemis, unaware he was poking fun, shot him a look of steel dagger before returning to her meal.
"Well how did you spend your day, Poseidon?" Artemis asked.
"If you must know, I turned a boat to stone, wrote a wonderful poem, and swam with the mermaids."
"You're a poet?" I exclaimed, a little too eager to steer the conversation away from unrecognized teasing to something more polite and enjoyable.
"Yes I am. Not much of one, but I do find it a very enjoyable pastime," he chuckled.
"Would you like to share some of your poetry after dinner? I think everyone might enjoy it over a cup of tea, maybe?"
"Yes, that would be nice," added Athena, who had finally piped in after polishing off her serving of salad.
"Do you dabble in poetry as well, Athena?" I asked, surprised to see the gods took any interest in the arts.
"No, but I do appreciate a fine piece of poetry over tea. I believe the written word, or even art in general, is one of the most beautiful way of expressing oneself. It separates a well-read creature from an uneducated one, and writing good poetry takes a very cerebral man indeed."
"I believe emotion plays more of a part in poetry than pure intellect. If you don't have emotion in the written word, or any piece of artwork, then there is no meaning behind the piece. It could be beautiful, but it is more of a calculated, cold, uninviting beauty rather than an emotional, passionate piece," Poseidon calmly stated.
"While there is merit in Poseidon's argument, Athena is right. She is the wisest of all the gods after all," Artemis countered, willing to support her fellow goddess.
"Well, if I could kindly interject, I agree with both Athena and Poseidon. Masterpieces are created with both calculation and passion, no? The artist puts their deepest thoughts down on the page or the canvas, or whatever medium they use, and create...