The golden light burns, glows, smolders The doorstep of night…. flutters, ripples, flees, amongst Dark shadow’s shade…. The branches receive, uphold, bear The eve of springtime…. hover, reach, display, before Airy palate blue…. The bitter breeze sweeps, twirls, heralds The icy morn’s dew…. flies, soars, brushes, the land with Cape of numbing cold……..
There was now a coming and going of many villagers. I heard them pattering and being as silent as they may. I whispered Blater and Bliter to my side. I crept out, watching the great Clock with an intense gaze. The dogs went before me, walking with their heads low. I then stopped and knelt. Blater and Bliter then turned towards me. I spoke to them:
Chapter Two
Prologue
A great Darkness had descended upon the valley city, Hethwenthor. Of this time, we know but the scattered and incomplete accounts which were left by the people who wrote them.
Chapter One
Whispers heard everywhere
The flowers swayed in the autumn breeze
The green grasses would bear the Sun's
Rays that made the morning dew drops glisten
The birds are chirping, do you hear them
Singing the early morning melody
Flying happily, oblivious to the lens that pointed
At the beauty of the place that is so free
The crackling of the leaves and twigs
And the soothing effect of the ocean breeze
Makes the world that's so big and crazy
“This is the Door of Humility, originally built in the seventh century.” The guide droned on, ignoring the muttered curses of the tall Americans who bumped their heads and the protests of the elderly who were already bent double with age. Among the later was a quiet woman with paper-white hair and gleaming onyx eyes.
She wandered away from the crowd into the Grotto of the Nativity. Underneath the elaborate tiles and plaques, it was still just a cave.
“He was born in a stable, Mara. Just think of it! A stable, like this!”
The Trader Chapter one A man stood in shadows, waiting. Waiting for whom? Passers-by would wonder. He was a mysterious, striking figure. Tall and lanky, bearing a long cloak and a hat with a peacock feather.
Notebook flipped open to an empty page
Pencil in hand, eraser in range
A mess of ideas desperately waiting to be written
But yet I think to myself, "Where is my inspiration?!"
Empty, like a useless vessel, I feel
If I was really blessed with such an incredible gift
Why am I not pouring it out to the world?
Oh what a God-given gift I have blessed with!
The gift to design a world of my own
The gift to sing without a voice
The gift to fly on the wings of the wind
Wailing seas
Rushing waves
Moonless sky
Soundless land
Burning stars
Calling wind
Endless shore
Sunless breeze
Beaming moon
Sinking sun
Starless night
Shadowless eyes
Wailing sea
Rushing waves
Moonless sky
Soundless land