The soft blue light faded as the day unfurled from its slumber. Shadows slowly elongated on the shattered porcelain path, held together by the dried blood and tears of immense beasts who once roamed the valleys when they still bore life.

Today promised a semblance of mere sustenance, if the trickle still flowed from the old scar dug by countless others to tap the last vestiges of sweet cold liquid ice left behind when all turned to vapor. The air hung thick like heavy branches after a deluge, filling lungs with sticky dew that tasted of metal and sweat. Breathing became almost gilled over eons as the crude moisture was displaced from land and sea to the atmospheric river.

Taking it all in, the people stood atop their promontory with cautious eyes fragmented into a kaleidoscope of flashes from the blistering orb above. No one dared speak except to offer the incantation of the five winds in a vain attempt to appease the goddesses of plenty as they continued to remake and restore a world lost to the madness of hubris and the excesses of unrestrained power.

Clinging to life at the apex, the band became a symphony of utterances before the wonder of another borrowed day carved from the carcass of inevitability. They were waning as the balance of life waxed stoically. Maybe someday the divine qxi would be grateful for them, too. In the meantime they had each other and the stored treasure of billions of souls across millions of years to guide their instincts and animate their agile minds.

At least they would cross the threshold with their eyes open when the time came. Once seen, the infinite could not be defined nor could it be resisted. The pull of distant bodies drew everything back to the source. The veil of clouded judgment would be subsumed by the clarity of resignation. Someday. But first they would have to face the gravity of another day.

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NOTE: Written en route from the desert in honor of St. Lucy, patron saint of eyes, whose feast day is in mid-December. Lucy was said to have removed her own eyes to ward off a suitor, but when buried her eyes were restored. Once seen, things could not be unseen—even through troubled eyes. Thus we glimpse possible futures in the periphery of doubt. {image: pixabay}