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wenyadur

in the wake of the vegetable stone

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On a sheet of past leaves, or years, the bow rests, unstretched. In its shadow, as in the horizon, the sky and the earth seem to touch. But beyond, they are fallen into each other, unknowing, asleep. And the archer is not yet the archer...

..A light breath of day plays around the leaves and his heart. Spring stubs blush and would bloom. Shapes of trills wrinkle and curl out to the buzz in the air... fail to follow and fall, back unto the string and farther, down, getting lost in the silence. But from that midst of heavens where love looks like her, a smile still climbs in the east, to remind of the promise...

...A stream of ants passing by and under the wood, darkening the mixture... The hands that would divide all in two, can no longer be made of hardship, of want. Or of the touch of a short bow. The gold that would be exchanged is not the gold raised from the ore, the plant or the flesh. That which repeats cannot be the same, from one step on the way to the other...

...A cloud taking the shape of a unicorn, the birch trees echo a distant tapping of hoofs... In the picking of flowers, of quartz, in the trutching with pestle, in speaking, in walking, or in getting dressed, or in the opening of a door, in eating, in breathing, in all these is the beginning of art...

...The yellow of leaves bursting, overwhelming the eyes of the trees, the Sun coming out of a cloud... If the arrow will reach the target, or not, it don't matter. The life that the archer would lose, isn't real, the arrow that fails, not the real one. Nothing is, anymore, but the bow in the heart...

...Through the veins of the earth, flowing, with the vapours, rising through air, with the rain, falling, the same blood in him and in her... The string, stirred by his touch, the wood of the bow, blossoming, perfumes, warmth, calls, the bosom of nature bustling with these, and with happiness promissed in dreams. Perfection...

...The evening Sun descending at the horizon, small fire-like lights appear here and there and stories begin to be told, to remind the world of his love. The Forest of the Fall fills with magic...

...Jayden opens the flask, lets it breath in the endless sky of the night. Stars sparkle, startling eternity for... a moment, a lifetime.

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