Vines - 25

Wasteland. What was once brown soil flushed with the vibrant activity of life is now gray dust, layer upon layer stacking to make the earth turn black. Veins of ash trace every edge of our ancient mother. The remains of the vines that burnt into black soot when the world ended in fire and ice. The world turned white and blue, a massive glacier until the sun grew large and all burst into flames. Nothing stirs in these swaths of gray and black.

In the horizon, a pinpoint of light has begun to grow. Rays of light pour out and the thin threads grow in strength as they reach outward. The grayed clouds burst open at the seams and torrents of water gush down from their containers in the heavens, a thousand years of pure water bundled in all the putrefaction left behind by the remains of civilization.

Rivers roared, cleaving pathways in the ashes of the earth and marring the settled gray powder. Lakes and oceans appear and at last the rains subside into mists and fogs on the highest peaks as the world once was. The waters cleanse themselves and once more sparkle in the new light a clear blue.

Still, though, the lands are gray and the veins lay dusty and dry. Rains fall and out of the ashes rises a phoenix child. From deep in the bowels of the earth, a single sprout pushes its way forth through the remains of its ancient ancestors, worn away to nothingness. It breaks through the crust and sets a grip upon the earth. New leaves moist with dew each morning grow and eventually the first flower bursts forth and reds redder than the fires of the faded sun send a pulse throbbing through the earth.

The veins of ash shed their layers and green buds sprinkle the earth just as the dirt of the ground is cleansed by mists and rains and the wholesome brown soil appears once more. A speck, two, five, thirty, a hundred, a thousand specks of discarded life are absorbed and we are given a second chance. A chance to try again without loss. Somewhere on this continent born anew, a woman walks and wonders at miracles the likes of which she has never seen. Inside her smooth belly, a foot kicks against the skin.

Dream - 24

I dream of the rain that we love. It falls so gently that it gives the illusion of a light mist, obscuring nothing but the farthest mountains that we don't care about. The weather is just perfect and the world is damp and nothing more. I step out the door and there you are waiting for me. The flowers are blooming in fall and that makes it all the better. There is nothing in the sky but clouds. An eternal sea of the most beautiful gray. I tell you the world seems to glow in your presence and it surely does. A spotlight, nothing less.

Then the rain stops and the clouds part to reveal the sun. You smile and the dream shatters.

It's broken and now I'm left missing and hating you. Hating you for leaving me. Then I remember how much I loved you and I grow weary and the ache in my heart starts again.

I throw my things together haphazardly and I leave to go see you. The journey is as long as ever and I'm as afraid as ever. The flowers that I bought have begun to lose their petals, as if knowing where they're headed. I arrive and the rain that we love is falling. It obscures nothing but the farthest mountains that we don't care about. The flowers aren't blooming in fall except in the shops. There is nothing in the sky but clouds.

I see you and I approach as quietly and as slowly as I have ever done. The dream has made me sadder than ever. I scatter the flowers over you and I whisper that you look as beautiful as ever and that I miss you and I see the tears on your cheeks as the flowers dissolve into nothingness. I tell you not to cry, but as ever you cannot hear me. I see you mouth my name and turn away, leaving only tears and tulips on my grave.