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All anyone truly has are their thoughts, and these are mine. I find it harder every day to believe in coincidence, so if you've found these writings, I encourage you to read on. Experience is a two-way street, and I'd appreciate hearing about yours. Love.

Wednesday, 29 December 2010

What We Leave Behind: The Ones of Hide and Pelt

He had inquired.

He fears.

He had had his understanding of all that was, and the knowledge had steadied and
comforted him into acceptance of the possibly unknown.
His amble is slouched yet hurried, as every foot forward pulls against the coat around his
 shoulders. It stretches into the dark depths of the mountain, it's end alight like a wick.
The tip is an ever present reminder of his future in which he has never come to terms.

A goat presents itself to his arrow. He hurriedly sews it's pelt into his collar. His process
 continues for years, as he climbs and sews from the ever present flame. His coat spirals
 around the huge body of earth. He treads step on the pinnacle of the mountain; all life in
his world exhausted.
The last of the small yet life-giving coat had been burning as the old lay near. An old hand 
gently reached out as a young hand had been lent. Old and young eyes had spoken and 
listened, as faint messages of meaning were exchanged. Seconds had passed, until old and
young eyes had closed and cried, as the last of the flames were extinguished.

The dawning sun had suggested an orange tinge to the short windswept grass upon the 
mountain. The breeze had displaced the ashes, charging them with the role of becoming a
part of the mountain. A small length of hide and a usable piece of pelt had been revealed. 
Young eyes smiled.
Old hands grasp, 
no hands extend. 
Old eyes plead, 
no eyes listen. 
Old eyes close, 
no eyes cry.

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