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And so I lay there upon the grass, glaring into the sky, those honeycomb clouds lingering across the glaze, drifting in the midnight air. Conjecture's appeared, reminiscient of the glory in my stare, such that they only lasted mere seconds. They were filled with sorrow, as the journey awaited, beyond those melancholy fields, beneath that dreary moon and beyond the orchard. An old man lived there, his limbs succumbed to the toil of pain that cascaded upon those open hills of similiar sort, down into the deep, touched by man's absurdity with war.

I closed my eyes. The night was yet old, the whisper of owls cast a silence through the chilly air, only hours before they would pass. Trepidation followed as they left their castles that blossom in the warm and fade beneath a haze of autumn. I speak of trees, yes, those thrones of joy and yet ever haunting should the eye betray you, touching your soul.
The night was now old, that old man, the one I mentioned before, do you remember? Yes, he had retired into his sacred harmony, a lie, beyond all comprehension, never a man cound tame its understanding.

I rose, the sharp grass caressing my hands, a tingle if you will, and hinting that departure was imminent. My posessions, oh so little, were prepared for me, perched upon my shoulder. The weight was no concern, for I had passed through worse during this initiation, and before.
The night was ageing, the morning not far. Dawn would bring shame to those that sleep, and surprises to those that live.



Part 2 Next week!!