Saturday, September 11, 2010

The Gray Road: I

I walk the gray road now, unsure, but hopeful. The land is under perpetual twilight, the witness of the velvet dance of sunlight, moonlight, and starlight. Mauve flowers and blue-gray leaves sway in the cold breeze.

The pilgrim prince has come.

Their rustling murmur, light as a feather, has become music to my ears now. Together with the soft whisper of my raiment, and my fox-light footfalls, they play the symphony of my journey.

The pilgrim prince is here.

The stars call to me softly. They whisper in my ears, enticing me to look to the twilight vault and discern the patterns they traced in their wake. Faint memories of the celestial dance wrought of fading starlight and stardust - that is what the designs are.

The designs will shift soon, pilgrim.
Trace them while you can, prince.

The stars see everything. That's what I've been taught. Great sages of times long gone who wished to know the workings of world submitted themselves to the song of creation, and thus learned the dance. Solitude is the price they paid for their knowledge, and thus they are far away - beyond the reach of mortal kind.

Trace the dance, prince.
Discern the design, pilgrim.

I look to the heavens and read the signs. They do not bode well. Still, I go on and heed the stars no longer. I still hear echoes of their song as they left.

Heed the dance, pilgrim.
Heed the design, prince.

I walk on in search of you.

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