| This is just a freeform piece of prose we did one evening. Just a bit of experimenting. Hope others try this on FwD. |
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The sun rises this morning upon a distant glade. Light beams poking and prodding between the plants, waking all the creatures it can find." The dew glimmers in the mist, the curtain so faintly shined. Stringing beads of starlight between the dawns, as fine as dreams entwined. Some of those dreams collect in complicated patterns upon the weavings of the spiders, reflecting the complicated dreams of the living. Breaks the dawn through the dream, creams and rusts in shadows. Breaks the song of the meadowlark as the forest stirs. I come here to dream my dreams, and bask beneath the sky. I come here to lie awake and think of how to fly. I watch the wind fly through the trees, the flowers bend with the gentle breeze. Upon it's back floats the gossamer seeds that spread their children to parts far distant, wherever the currents take them. To live, to grow, to bear fruit and die, their children flying on the winds anew. Dawn's light calls the springtime, and her dews so bright and new. For at noon we call the sparrow's voice and rush through thicket and thew. For Evening's light is waning and her lakes are mirrors of glass, the evening dips and Night is near, where death takes her toll at last. Yet on gossamer wings, her children fly, protected by the moon, across beams of silver threads to greet the dawn anew. A gentle glow heralds the arrival of another day, continuing the cycle that never pauses, never halts. To illuminate our lives and loves, our triumphs, failures, nobility and faults. With each day doth life renew, and the glory of that life reminds us of it's importance, with the days precious and few.
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