This is something new in the works. I’m not exactly sure where I should go with this; develop into a short story, maybe the beginning of a prologue to a long story? . . . Not sure. But I would certainly appreciate any suggestions. Thanks!
Solar arc near its end, the sure, relentless grip of shadow steadily mounts in its wake. Lunar dominance is yet a pale, mysterious orb suspended in the failing daylight sky. Such is that known as twilight time—when tides reflect the shifting of celestial dominion, and in the firmament is manifest the cadence of infinity. Birds—those with brilliance of color, as they who soar the uppermost thermals with fierce, farseeing gazes, ever questing for weakness and confusion upon which to prey—make to roost ‘ere their dark, brooding cousins, perched along crooked branches extending wildly from stout, ominous arbors, patiently await the folly of their nocturnal woodland brethren, upon which they would feed. Nearby, in his isolated madness, the lone wolf pains a cry of woe toward his rising master, hoping with his suffering to call forth the voice of forgiveness from his fallen brothers and sisters. For it was from his folly Death arose to harvest their vitality. Though it was not they who echoed his cry. It was the insoluble Breath of Creation flowing through existence; all that is, ever was and is yet to be—though to Creation all of the Ten Thousand Things are but one and simply is. The warmth of the Mother brought great comfort to the lone wolf, consoling his grief and reminding him of the True Path. The Breath of Creation encompasses all and is ever seeking to forge a balance between that which exists and that which does not exist. For Creation is not only master of life, but also that of death. It initiates all beginnings yet also requires demise to sustain the delicately balanced Circle.
Mankind is now all but blind of the True Path. Their untrusting senses are too often focused inward on petty wants and desires. Once there was a pure time for mankind, when they ran with the wolf and saw the world through the eagle’s eye. But then mankind grew clever and decided they no longer needed the companionship of the wolf to hunt, nor that of the eagle to touch the sky. Slowly mankind descended from the True Path and forgot the Song of Creation. Now all that they can hear of that music is the whispering of the wind, the roaring of the ocean and the rumbling of the earth. No longer do they hear the voice of their Mother in those sounds, but rather seek to give such things a logical explanation.
Filed by Chris 大斌 at 9:10 pm under Tentative Works, Writing
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