AbdoRinbo
10-07-2003, 03:06 PM
Travelers reach the wooded edge of the city after three days moving eastward from the square. The north wind delivers a blue, gelid breeze that whistles through the pines flanking their path, moving through the thick hinterlands.
A child in grey and black dress moves along the path at the end of the caravan. His face shines from the polishing caress of the strident air, but his eyes are a lament mourning death. He is enrolled in the forests. Wild smells of golden leaves flow beneath the crown of his nose, a destiny in the winds channeling soft maternal fluids. Sadness rains in desperate gales of frost on hollow grounds. He walks noiselessly, as if listening to a whisper.
A point catches his gaze. He turns toward the side of the road: a living wall. There: possessions of magic, the seasons. A flower lay couched within a curious purple grove (neither exist); a song echoes from the trees, commanding him. Over invisible paths, he flees from his company of travelers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Within the dome of a wooded shade, the polar sun is drowned. A delicate fairy girl, washed in pagan mud, lies stretched out upon a covering of moss. Her gazing eyes pierce a corridor of forest trees. Rain begins falling on every one of the silver pines; in the creeks; on traveled roads. It would rain forever. A taste of ancient visions and new sounds. Against a black wall he appears to her, shaking, without light: a nameless child. She falls upon him within the trimmed lace of the dome, kissing and smiling, pulling him closer to that primal embrace (the spring of all inspiration); he clings in rapture.
But rain drops have evaporated, the seasons have vanished with the wind. A violet mist enfolds them, all memory is erased. He lies curled next to her in a drunken sleep: dreams to change life.
A dog barks in the distance.
A child in grey and black dress moves along the path at the end of the caravan. His face shines from the polishing caress of the strident air, but his eyes are a lament mourning death. He is enrolled in the forests. Wild smells of golden leaves flow beneath the crown of his nose, a destiny in the winds channeling soft maternal fluids. Sadness rains in desperate gales of frost on hollow grounds. He walks noiselessly, as if listening to a whisper.
A point catches his gaze. He turns toward the side of the road: a living wall. There: possessions of magic, the seasons. A flower lay couched within a curious purple grove (neither exist); a song echoes from the trees, commanding him. Over invisible paths, he flees from his company of travelers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Within the dome of a wooded shade, the polar sun is drowned. A delicate fairy girl, washed in pagan mud, lies stretched out upon a covering of moss. Her gazing eyes pierce a corridor of forest trees. Rain begins falling on every one of the silver pines; in the creeks; on traveled roads. It would rain forever. A taste of ancient visions and new sounds. Against a black wall he appears to her, shaking, without light: a nameless child. She falls upon him within the trimmed lace of the dome, kissing and smiling, pulling him closer to that primal embrace (the spring of all inspiration); he clings in rapture.
But rain drops have evaporated, the seasons have vanished with the wind. A violet mist enfolds them, all memory is erased. He lies curled next to her in a drunken sleep: dreams to change life.
A dog barks in the distance.