Sitting in her steller mezanine, grey and high, gentle whispers of tears came from Moon
Tendrils of light reflected in the teardrop pool forking its way through the dust near her feet
Stormcloud gathers his strength, at a odd loss to know the ways of the hearts of the Longen
They live so long, see so much. He thought as he edged his way towards Moon. He knew he had but hours to live. It made his tummy rumble and he remembered his own brief youths. Every day he died. Every day he was born. Grew old. Grew up.
Till he dies just before Sun, his mother gives birth to him again. One of many sons and dughters of the Longen.
Would he ever reach Moon?
Every day he tried and every night he failed. These gentle wispy tears falling. Falling.
Stormcloud would never know why.
Softness pushing gently touched
Covers envelopes us
Warmth that fills
Air cleaner than we remember
Filled with a sort of happy satisfaction
Realease out relaxing tendrils
Memory of gentleness
Kindness, a place of settlement
We want to bundle it up and keep it
Like a old little gentle dog who sleeps on your legs like a blanket
Comfort will go, like the epervesant sinews of dream you just
Wake and find yourself,
A unpleasant air makes the climb all the harder
For age has made these bones as old as the land under her feet
And no one will help her
Not that anyone is hear to
A lone pine sits watching her smugly from its permeant residence
Waiting to snark at her slow approach
Not one but many more steps before the summit is reached
The hag begins to wonder
Why do this every time?
Because otherwise all like her will no longer be?
Maybe it would feel better if it wasn’t for that smug tree
When the sun finally rises she stops to rest
Her luncheon of nuts and dry meats
Consumed in teeth that hang on
Chomping as loud as she can
No one cares what noise happens up here
Up again and bones creek
It’s not far now
Past that pine
There is a pool
Full of summers last wine
She looks at her reflection
It’s older that she thought
She takes out a spoon and drinks
Sip by sip the memories of the summer past are drunk
At the end she feels a bit sunk
By all the memory in her full belly
Then it’s time.
A flash and she’s back to being all dark and mysterious, still aged but black and not orange
The Winter Hag looks at the empty pool and says
“Pine. You always keep the memory so strong. I wish I could keep such strong memory. ”
And as she walks a into a nearby hut, you could swear the pine was now somehow even more smug than before.