#terreu

A night of solitude by the river, the winding river which passes driftwood through the ghostly edges of rainbows. Somewhere in the distance, it could be ten feet away, it could be three hundred years ago, a bearded man is knee deep in the icy water lobbing a thin silver line further into the mystery. The cold black surface tingles with life, feathers dance hauntingly down her voluptuous back. I think about her. I wonder where she is, was, will be, was.

The winter she spent with me was bitterly cold. I do not remember the cold. When someone looks at you with eyes of love you do not feel cold, you feel the fire of the love in their eyes. By the river, willows overhang the bank in green loops which tickle the water, stirring their delicate fingers into her skin. The bearded man shouts to me about the trees, we look up and we see the green leaves glitter with the prettiest jewels, magnificent golden diadems, perfumed ephemera from sweet empires. The branches turn to flakes of silver as we speak. Together we scale the willow trees, climbing right to the top, but when we reach out for the jewels the branches sway just beyond our hands.

A white swan sails from a corridor of the unconscious towards the magical willow tree with the grace of a ballerina. The beast opens her luxurious wings and looks at us with contempt, perhaps we have disturbed her nest, suddenly she springs forward in attack. The bearded man stands firm in front of the swan, she stops. He points a wand of white willow wood up to the looming grey clouds, her eyes follow. He counts six seconds then a boom of thunder erupts across the sky, lightning flashes and raindrops hurtle down, sprinkling the river’s surface like stars. The swan caws and flaps in joy, we have brought her the rain.