Spring: Ka’len the Sea Drake – 409

A melody found its way into her dreams for the very first time this night. It was an old song, played many times in many places.

Of course there is magic in music, everyone knows that. Some say there is magic in dreams, too. They are the province of paths not taken and lives not lived. Outside of time – they simply are.

 

Somewhere, a garden grows.

It is overgrown, yet not neglected, for it is nourished by she who was called Beloved.

It is not a tranquil garden, but it remember the time it was. Now it is a place of  loss so potent as to be felt in the deep places of the soul.  For in this place starry white flowers ardently trade tales of the tree who once lent them shade.  Amidst such yearnings, the perennials remember the early days, when love first bloomed.

There was laughter once, the aster insists.

There was music once, too, the iris agrees.

At the end of each day the sunflower’s gaze comes to rest upon the stump that was all that remained of the favoured tree.  The garden remembers, and the blossoms weep for what has been lost. 

Within these doleful gates the lilies grow upon their mound.  The marigold stands vigil, as does the daffodil.  The violet and the daisy lift up a plaintive elegy.  Even the humble dandelion is given a place of honour here.  It is the rose that is not to be found.

 He would  not suffer the rose to blaspheme her garden.

 

The first light of the sun works its way through the window of the house nestled in a graceful willow at the very edges of Zoluren. The slight figure of a sleeping elf stirs inside, awakening from her rest with a sense of inexplicable sorrow. It vanishes a moment later, an echo fading into silence with nothing left to mark its passing.

 

It was a new day, and it was spring.