a little world #1
I am alive by the endless grind of my daydreaming. The apparitions that work the Great Mill heard my first cry. It had a specific ring to it, and sounding in that specific key, their masters led them straight to me. They took their hands off the limestone machine, then melded into each other, as if too lean, for their boundaries being air, they could not re-radiate their form, but instead merge into a rotund spirit. Then, wheeling through all of time, they came to whisper in my mind.
They are from the Old World. I hear their whispers in nature. When the Rose-of-Sharon peers through the deep green, on its toes, asking me, gently, to lift my head, to gaze, at a spider web laced between two oaks. I think of a rose window from a Gothic cathedral. I saw a picture on the online Britannica, this one the same, but silk, and foiling the blue sky.
We see you, we see you. Their whispers speak to me. Sister Moon and her greenness ask you, kindly, please suspend your will. Do not think any longer of how you did not get your fill. Little castles everywhere! They live among the trees! Only you will discover them, if you bend your knees.
For the guardians of this Great Mill whisper in the key of Wisdom and Spirit. Just when I believe I am most arid; They grant me a vision. Bare to the pale sun, but for a black veil, and walking the walls of the empty city of Avila. They send me a boar covered in wet mud. It hobbles out from behind an approaching turret. We meet as his fur hardens into dry brown rivulets. Our snouts turn in unison at a new sound. An untethered bubbling from the plaza fountain below.
I come back to and there is no boar. For Aletheia took him with her, but left me the scene to play with and ponder on in sincerity. I am left with this world and that has to be okay. There is no other way to get through it without my apparitions, without the endless fantasies, so freely given to me.
