swansongsurreal (swansongsurreal) wrote in creativewriting,

Dawn and Dusk continues.

This delicate moment, the one only those who have sat beside a love one can attest, envelopes the tiny spineless beings.  This fragile moment defies time, defies boundaries, defies limits revealing the momentous mystery of how powerful love is.  It is the one key element that can be accepted.  Beings succumb to it's pull, it's wisdom, it's earnestness and validity amid a universe of improbabilities, of lies and manipulation and nourishes a needed greater than air.  Love breathes into bodies, even those of the most microscopic size.  It's more than instinct, it is as simple as holding a hand and knowing without words what that gesture means.  It is a deepness deeper than the sharpest plummeting valleys.  It forms change.  It may be mountainous and well built or flaky shale so brittle and  fragile that it breaks and rolls plummeting. It is a holy relic that takes forms in many guises.  It can be found formed by gestures, in emotions, or in just stillness and darkness.

It is the one force that remains constant no matter it's growth in time, no matter to whom it resides, no matter who nurtures or or even abandons it, it still manages to survive against the turmoil and pestilence in a world consumed within self absorbing themselves.  One day, they will feel it.  One day they will understand. For it waits in silence until summoned.  It waits and follows like a loyalty found in pets.  It survives on so little or sometimes nothing at all.  It expects so little and yet we expect so much from what little we give of it.  It surfaces with just a flicker in a storm of wind but still burns in radiance.  It is like a ocean at times that shrinks to tiny inlets  to tide pools to sand...but no less powerful.

In this moment the forest glows as eyes watch and stare at a miracle unfolding.

In this moment it is not the farewell that is the revelation but the introduction into a new life.

A lone wolf raises back his tufted neck and bays loudly a haunting cry for there is no sadder sound then the sound of loneliness.  He lifts his muzzle high in the air and cries out for that reassurance in the wilderness he is not alone.  He tests the infinite sky with his keen amber eyes searching for the answers.  He tilts his ears seeking the timber only he will recognize.  He searches for that song sung so sweetly only to him.  The sound only wolves, wolves so ancient, wolves so primitive, wolves so close knit can sing for the wild is still within their hearts.  That song, that duet that only two kindred souls, two that are one could compose so purely.  The forest eyes open golden watching and listening to that harmony that in memoriam, only enduring the most bitter lean winters and the joyous of  bountiful springs can cast into the wind softer than a violin.

No other melody matches that which comes from the oldest and sacred of hearts.

His song is answered and they sing Annie to sleep under the moon.
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