| |||||
The blue and grey of the lightening sky Tell me I’ve been walking for far too long. The birds’ sweet morning lullaby song Is calling me to sleep. I can’t say why I feel more at home here, away from my Holt. I’ve been told this only serves to prolong This soul-shaped hole in me. Was it so wrong When it was adventure I was pulled out by? It is no longer the pull of secrets unlocked That keeps me out here. I feel no need to roam To discover a new river or a new dreamberry bush, Or a need to explore distant forests unwalked. These things do not pull me away from my home. It is no pull at all, really—but a (very Bright) push. The bee-keeper's come, though, and with her New hope rises like the new moons. Silver light, silver hope, healing old wounds; Not only in the sleeping, but in those who were Waiting. Wrapped in silk or wrapped in fur, Dreaming silent songs or whistling light tunes, Alike tire of waiting for both “later”s and “soon”s. I can't sit still for a tail full of burrs. Patience is needed, it's what should be mine; I should go out scouting, territory-covering, Adventure still calls me, so familiar and hopeful. But my territory pales, the mountains don't shine As much as the Holt does, I find myself hovering. It's not a push I feel now, but a (very Bright) pull.
|
Home | Characters | Art | Fiction | Resources | Links | Messageboard | Contact | Member Login
[Visual Design: Ellen Million | Sidebar Art: Rachel Vardys | Coding and maintenance: Ron Swartzendruber]
[No portion of this site's content may be used or copied without prior, written consent.]
[Send comments or questions about the site to help@rivertwine.com | Report Web errors to webmaster@rivertwine.com | Page Last Modified 03FEB2020 21:07:59 | Exec 0.009 secs]