The Lost Journals of Ponce De Leone

[goldentone]

On this day of April, 1513, Juan Ponce de Leone landed on the shores of Florida, although he
thought it was an island.  Somewhere between St. Augustine and Melbourne Beach they came afoot.  

My name is Carlos Deloso Arvedez, a descendant of the famed explorer, twice removed
on the de Leone side.  While excavating not far from St. Augustine, I discovered the
journals of Ponce de Leone's Florida expedition.  Though the search for the Fountain
of Youth was never considered much more than legend, my search has turned up a story
of near legendary stature.

Here I will unfold those journals which I have yet to share with any locality or government.
The information contained in these pages, preserved in the earth from the winds of
time, will prove more interesting than any historian could imagine.

*Editor's note:  Carlos Arvedez's story, here published in increments, is taken from the quartermillenial edition of The Pianostreet Old Farmer's Almanac, available in gold plated characters.

[visitor]

we await this retelling of uncommon  history and accounts
 

[goldentone]

It was March 26th.  The year I shall not disclose at this time.  I had just kissed my
wife adieu from our mid-day coffee, and made my way back to the excavation site.

Upon initial discovery of the de Leone chest, I found it replete with personal
effects, Spanish artifacts, a few books, an astrolabe, and other significant items
which I will allow slumber.  There, wrapped in a blue cloth, was the book holding the
journals of the fallen explorer.

The sun being not long in the sky, I read these words from the first entry,
words that have been sealed for centuries:

Being into our first week at sea, I have started to regret having invited the French
on the expedition, as already a quarter of the wine has been imbibed.  At this rate
we could suffer a mutiny.  I will seek to rectify the matter with Admiral Conforza.

The Indians told us that the Fountain we seek is guarded in the Bahamas by an
unknown Indian tribe.  That is our hope.  Alas, for the wine.  Instead, living water.

I closed the excavation for the day and forthwith returned to our Spanish chateau.

[cuberdrift]

Hmm, sorry...but you are Arvedez?

[goldentone]

Hmm, sorry...but you are Arvedez?

No.  That's why later I put in the Editor's note.

[goldentone]

we await this retelling of uncommon  history and accounts
 

Who knows what mysteries may turn up. . .

[visitor]

[goldentone]

Thus, I, Carlos Arvedez, forthwith returned to my Spanish chateau the auspicious night of the De Leone discovery.

The architecture of our chateau seemed transformed.  I beheld in it the thought that my wife, the voluptuous spirit she is, cast some spell, arcane, that outwitted my gaze.  Soon after these shimmerings, she appeared from behind our inner quarters and spoke.

"You have been out longer than my heart could uphold."
"The De Leone treasure is rich, so rich a man in love might forget his true romance but for a moment."
"You know I imbibe Spanish lore as the air.  I will forgive you only if you divulge the discovery of the eve."
"Your only privy soul knoweth.  But a remonstrance.  It is not lore, sweets; it is lore's pearl fused to reality."
"There vibrates a poem I heard once, ere its revelation, like a dream."

As we danced I glanced toward the early hours of our next day, wondering what the path of the entries would forge for Ponce De Leone.