05-01-2021, 05:39 AM
[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; max-width: 65%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"]The ocean.
Once restricted to pages weathered by the passage of time, ceaseless and deemed unkind though theirs the fetter that it bore, a restraint that bore duel edge. Paled it, sure strokes crumbling away, dust against fine strands and flesh alike, marvelled at. A dream it, difficult to conceptualise, find a place for it among the threads of reality.
Lesson learnt, witness became. Still misunderstood it, bore the fit in his mind, grazing against the threshold of thought and away sliding without warning. Maybe it best that way, restless his search, wished the surface broken by that swallowed long ago. Better his grasp, knowledge sowed, if weak and patchy with holes filled by self made truths, his hope broken. Behind it lay, thought no more than a dream. Falsehood, a beacon almost, akin to the lighthouse that perched in lonesome solitude. Back always drawn, his own this choice, the sand carved away into suitable shelter.
Prone had he grown to idle movement, allowed muscle to propel him forth without thought to act as guide, where conclusion was staged a common destination. Easy to see why, caught the archipelago in an unbroken ring of brine, there always it in some fashion. Be it the sound, that hushed forward push and retreat, the conclusion of waves reaching forth foam tipped peaks only to come down once more, the chorus of life bore aloft on the breeze, or the scent, salt in each breath. This land simply part of it, a force as the vent that spewed irregular columns of smoke, the two that made this place together, nurtured those who walked this shoreline.
No surprise may thus be derived from the path he tread that quiet morning, a dark spectre wrapped in the dissipating lace of low hanging mist. Soon enough it would be gone, wake leaving droplets, dew bright as caught and reflected the light that revealed it, partial the illumination already. For now it clung, held him as sand was disturbed by each step, the next slide into with ease. Familiar now the terrain, how it moved, never still as soil packed beneath others, passage wiped away and undone the presence of others who walked it.
Not in whole. Eyes shifted, slow that turn, over looked fresh markers announcing another had come before. Unsurprising, activity seemed to begin when the sun rose, those faint hues of peach and rose enough to beckon forth the early risers. Not meant to follow yet such he did, curious now as to destination. A hub of activity, trivial often, more often gathered to enjoy conversation over any true work. Few, if any, would occupy at this hour, further fanned his curiosity, rarely indulged for fleeting it. Now it held, pushed him forth in this moment that seemed almost a dream, slow the swing of tail.
Nothing. Vision turning, inspecting.an absence was never absolute, always occupied a space even as it was deemed empty. How might it be empty when the sand was present, the brine slow and sure in creeping forth along sodden grains, retreating with a sound so like a sigh bearing disappointment. Upwards travelling, reduced to shapes awoken avians bore aloft on undercurrents, the stretch of wings carving out a space for them. No, not empty, simply stagnant, still as absence of a particular part was noted. Down once more, scoured the grains, sought hints.
There, the next before, a trail leading on. Sudden the end, found where the tide lapped at the edge, ruined that pressed into the outer reach, imperfect but still there. Head tilting, confusion light, contouring dark visage. Another merely indulging, this moments theirs. Yet nothing broke the surface, no silhouette that may speak of the presence that left in wake their progress, traced the shifting surface. A glimpse, dark shifting point, kept afloat by the water and the salt, buoyant by own decree. Sigh traced lips, fell from a gentle curl, lids brief in this close. Upon opening once more gone was it, that fleeting hint that ended his search, beneath the waves swallowed. There was no fear, nor notion that assistance may be necessary. Far had it been out, capable enough to handle the calm depths, a part of things, a factor of life for them all, the ocean that reached for yet never touched him.
Time slow in progress, moments coalescing, minutes untracked though felt in the subtle change. About scenery came into stark relief as the mist dissipated, the sun climbing, ever steady in an ascent that had been performed since the beginning. Over the surface his eyes moved, sought breach, a hint the suspected presence was alright. It never seemed to occur. Possibilities gathered, thoughts of coming ashore elsewhere, or mistaken the silhouette, no creature of the land but one adapted for the depths. Off the mark both, though partial the second in a way he could not parse as of yet, enough to at least partially quell his worry. Still was it there, built upon as time passed, irregular the invertals vision was averted from search and checked the position of the sun above his head.
Difficult to determine when began once more motion, restless the turn on heel, the back and forth staged before the tide. Lip caught, worried until it ached, back ears pressed. The possibility his inactivity may cause harm, bring about a premature end if he had been wrong within his assessment. Those few instances he approached something halted him before the brine may touch, beyond reach always, quiet the displeased murmur of withdraw. Basic his own skill with such, the calm tide beneath the veil of night a taste, terror incited though internal the cause. Still had close at hand been the security of solid ground, the distance enough to dash any thought that this may be the same.
On continued the drag, breath seeping between the clench of his teeth, shallow each replacement as chest tightened. It was not the breach, distance enough never heard the displacement as surface broke, nor the removal of fluid that clogged nostrils, rather each breath acted as suitable alert. Eyes turned, rested upon the approaching shape. Darkened by the moisture that streamed from slicked down coat a stranger all he perceived, smothered the jolt before recognition settled, her unexpected change explained to not cause any strife, words failing. The wish to reprimand lay against his tongue, old those words he had taken numerous times when idiocy guided him rather than thought, swallowed with difficulty. Wrong such approach, she was a dealer and he…
Thoughts trailed into an uneven break, mouth slow in working, strained the rasp of his voice. "I thought… You were down there for a long time. Are you okay, I can get a towel or something just… Why would you do that, what if you couldn't come back up." Mere sound did Harland devolve into, roughly rubbed away tears unshed. Known that their fall would not be seen but to explain, voice where his mind turned, difficult.
How might he speak of the rose garden where he had lost her, oblivious to the waves, those starving depths that had taken as those crimson blooms had. He could not, might never speak of how the matriarchs of their meagre family had been taken one after the other, his futile search, salt searing a throat raw as he cried over them.
Once restricted to pages weathered by the passage of time, ceaseless and deemed unkind though theirs the fetter that it bore, a restraint that bore duel edge. Paled it, sure strokes crumbling away, dust against fine strands and flesh alike, marvelled at. A dream it, difficult to conceptualise, find a place for it among the threads of reality.
Lesson learnt, witness became. Still misunderstood it, bore the fit in his mind, grazing against the threshold of thought and away sliding without warning. Maybe it best that way, restless his search, wished the surface broken by that swallowed long ago. Better his grasp, knowledge sowed, if weak and patchy with holes filled by self made truths, his hope broken. Behind it lay, thought no more than a dream. Falsehood, a beacon almost, akin to the lighthouse that perched in lonesome solitude. Back always drawn, his own this choice, the sand carved away into suitable shelter.
Prone had he grown to idle movement, allowed muscle to propel him forth without thought to act as guide, where conclusion was staged a common destination. Easy to see why, caught the archipelago in an unbroken ring of brine, there always it in some fashion. Be it the sound, that hushed forward push and retreat, the conclusion of waves reaching forth foam tipped peaks only to come down once more, the chorus of life bore aloft on the breeze, or the scent, salt in each breath. This land simply part of it, a force as the vent that spewed irregular columns of smoke, the two that made this place together, nurtured those who walked this shoreline.
No surprise may thus be derived from the path he tread that quiet morning, a dark spectre wrapped in the dissipating lace of low hanging mist. Soon enough it would be gone, wake leaving droplets, dew bright as caught and reflected the light that revealed it, partial the illumination already. For now it clung, held him as sand was disturbed by each step, the next slide into with ease. Familiar now the terrain, how it moved, never still as soil packed beneath others, passage wiped away and undone the presence of others who walked it.
Not in whole. Eyes shifted, slow that turn, over looked fresh markers announcing another had come before. Unsurprising, activity seemed to begin when the sun rose, those faint hues of peach and rose enough to beckon forth the early risers. Not meant to follow yet such he did, curious now as to destination. A hub of activity, trivial often, more often gathered to enjoy conversation over any true work. Few, if any, would occupy at this hour, further fanned his curiosity, rarely indulged for fleeting it. Now it held, pushed him forth in this moment that seemed almost a dream, slow the swing of tail.
Nothing. Vision turning, inspecting.an absence was never absolute, always occupied a space even as it was deemed empty. How might it be empty when the sand was present, the brine slow and sure in creeping forth along sodden grains, retreating with a sound so like a sigh bearing disappointment. Upwards travelling, reduced to shapes awoken avians bore aloft on undercurrents, the stretch of wings carving out a space for them. No, not empty, simply stagnant, still as absence of a particular part was noted. Down once more, scoured the grains, sought hints.
There, the next before, a trail leading on. Sudden the end, found where the tide lapped at the edge, ruined that pressed into the outer reach, imperfect but still there. Head tilting, confusion light, contouring dark visage. Another merely indulging, this moments theirs. Yet nothing broke the surface, no silhouette that may speak of the presence that left in wake their progress, traced the shifting surface. A glimpse, dark shifting point, kept afloat by the water and the salt, buoyant by own decree. Sigh traced lips, fell from a gentle curl, lids brief in this close. Upon opening once more gone was it, that fleeting hint that ended his search, beneath the waves swallowed. There was no fear, nor notion that assistance may be necessary. Far had it been out, capable enough to handle the calm depths, a part of things, a factor of life for them all, the ocean that reached for yet never touched him.
Time slow in progress, moments coalescing, minutes untracked though felt in the subtle change. About scenery came into stark relief as the mist dissipated, the sun climbing, ever steady in an ascent that had been performed since the beginning. Over the surface his eyes moved, sought breach, a hint the suspected presence was alright. It never seemed to occur. Possibilities gathered, thoughts of coming ashore elsewhere, or mistaken the silhouette, no creature of the land but one adapted for the depths. Off the mark both, though partial the second in a way he could not parse as of yet, enough to at least partially quell his worry. Still was it there, built upon as time passed, irregular the invertals vision was averted from search and checked the position of the sun above his head.
Difficult to determine when began once more motion, restless the turn on heel, the back and forth staged before the tide. Lip caught, worried until it ached, back ears pressed. The possibility his inactivity may cause harm, bring about a premature end if he had been wrong within his assessment. Those few instances he approached something halted him before the brine may touch, beyond reach always, quiet the displeased murmur of withdraw. Basic his own skill with such, the calm tide beneath the veil of night a taste, terror incited though internal the cause. Still had close at hand been the security of solid ground, the distance enough to dash any thought that this may be the same.
On continued the drag, breath seeping between the clench of his teeth, shallow each replacement as chest tightened. It was not the breach, distance enough never heard the displacement as surface broke, nor the removal of fluid that clogged nostrils, rather each breath acted as suitable alert. Eyes turned, rested upon the approaching shape. Darkened by the moisture that streamed from slicked down coat a stranger all he perceived, smothered the jolt before recognition settled, her unexpected change explained to not cause any strife, words failing. The wish to reprimand lay against his tongue, old those words he had taken numerous times when idiocy guided him rather than thought, swallowed with difficulty. Wrong such approach, she was a dealer and he…
Thoughts trailed into an uneven break, mouth slow in working, strained the rasp of his voice. "I thought… You were down there for a long time. Are you okay, I can get a towel or something just… Why would you do that, what if you couldn't come back up." Mere sound did Harland devolve into, roughly rubbed away tears unshed. Known that their fall would not be seen but to explain, voice where his mind turned, difficult.
How might he speak of the rose garden where he had lost her, oblivious to the waves, those starving depths that had taken as those crimson blooms had. He could not, might never speak of how the matriarchs of their meagre family had been taken one after the other, his futile search, salt searing a throat raw as he cried over them.