Miscellanea from the Lost Quarter and beyond.

Songs of Creation

The night is cold and dark, everything still and silent. Clouds of your breath hang in the air. Above the stars in their multitudes glimmer, reaching across the infinite emptiness. You call up into the darkness, a cry filled with hope and rage and longing. Only echoes of it return in the vast wintery stillness.   

The new moon in the sky, warm against the cold and the darkness. A song of what is to be. A promise of times to come.  

Great beasts slumber in dark places, hidden away, waiting for their time to return. To walk the land as the cold leeches away and with it the snow. Streams are born that for a brief time will flow finding their way through a place born again. Verdant green and waters with an emerald sheen. The smell of so much life fills your nostrils. 

The sands in the glass trickle down, a steady current. Inexorable, marking every second of every hour, until the last grain spills down and settles and the whole of everything is still. Mountains and valleys, cliffs and crevasses are formed, shaped by movements of air and water. Born and reborn by steady accretion and accumulation. A craggy countenance becoming smooth.  

Becoming new again. Until nothing of what was remains.