His shrivelling hands reached up to the skies. The nine falling stars met the node of his staff. A flash of lightning, a scream of connection, the wind ceased blowing and the earth whispered for a little while.
The wizard stepped down from his stone. Tired. Weary. He should be happy. Should be fulfilled. He was too tired to feel anything. He needed to lie down.
Crawling, his hands searched for the softest stones on the pebble beach. The waves were gently caressing the rocks. No tide tonight, just the movement of a silently dancing starfish and dolphins.
His hands found a spot of stones carefully polished by eons of ice and water. Here he would rest. Here he would regain himself.
He laid down, placing the staff beside him, covering it with the grey cloth and moss he carried in his pouch. He leaned in to the stone covered earth. Closed his eyes. Sssshhhhhhh…..
New stories would be written. Covering up what was between the old stories and the now. But who would write them? He was worried. Sssshhhhh….
The mist of sleep fell over him. Lulling him in to the space in between the veils. No moon tonight. What was to come?
- Cecilia Götherström, Dec 5th 2019
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