Winter's Breathless Dream
By M.S.C. 10-25-03
In garden of roses frosted in winter's breath, a solitary being walked without leaving footprints behind. The sky was a pale, gray twilight without a sun to light the day. Shadowed trees loomed over the earth with bare limbs that twisted up to reach the clouds. A daunting silence filled the air like a fog that floated there. It was a sanctuary from the enchantments of some forgotten painting, with only unspoken sorrow to paint it's dreary canvas. A melancholy music streamed through the nature as the person continued to glide along in a long, hooded cloak of silver. A pause and a long hand with slender fingers reached out to touch a frozen rose daintily. They were tender, snow-white fingertips numbed by the cold, still velvety as the green moss that sprawled across the trees in summer. Wistfully, they graced the flower coated with ice. The being released a visible breath into the cold air. His eyes strayed down to look into a small pool of melted snow cradled in a leaf. Morose eyes of blue, the color of the ocean, the rain, and the indigo sky all in melted rays, stared back at him. The ethereal, mythically fair face of an Elf was reflected there, in the water. Pale as the lilies of spring was his face and alabaster brow. His beautifully sculpted cheekbones were tinged with a berry's hue. His parted lips, like the soft kiss of an immortal rosebud, barely quivered with a breath. The snow began to drift soundlessly like feather wisps, an untainted white through and through. The creature lowered his hood elegantly and a cascade of silken silver-gold spilled down his back like the ripples of dawn and morning glory. The snowflakes of winter's serenade nestled in his flowing tresses and adorned his head, upon which the light of heaven shone. He was a vision caught in a world of fragile things, immortal greenleaf of his beloved kindred. And into the lifeless wood, he wandered despondently, until he arrived upon a glade where the gray of twilight touched every snowflake before him. He stood with his fair head bowed and brilliant eyes closed. A frozen tear escaped him as his thoughts blossomed into memories of the man his heart longed for, his beloved brother lost to the bitter fate of mortality. The petals closed around the image of his wounding torment, held onto him, and withered into a slumped flower with those same petals falling away, one by one. There in that glade, the Elf lay upon the snow, heaven's creature painted in a blank canvas. Every cold snowflake that fell as he gazed up into his beloved gray sky kissed his fair face. Eyes closed, a sigh released.
In garden of roses frosted in winter's breath, a solitary being walked without leaving footprints behind. The sky was a pale, gray twilight without a sun to light the day. Shadowed trees loomed over the earth with bare limbs that twisted up to reach the clouds. A daunting silence filled the air like a fog that floated there. It was a sanctuary from the enchantments of some forgotten painting, with only unspoken sorrow to paint it's dreary canvas. A melancholy music streamed through the nature as the person continued to glide along in a long, hooded cloak of silver. A pause and a long hand with slender fingers reached out to touch a frozen rose daintily. They were tender, snow-white fingertips numbed by the cold, still velvety as the green moss that sprawled across the trees in summer. Wistfully, they graced the flower coated with ice. The being released a visible breath into the cold air. His eyes strayed down to look into a small pool of melted snow cradled in a leaf. Morose eyes of blue, the color of the ocean, the rain, and the indigo sky all in melted rays, stared back at him. The ethereal, mythically fair face of an Elf was reflected there, in the water. Pale as the lilies of spring was his face and alabaster brow. His beautifully sculpted cheekbones were tinged with a berry's hue. His parted lips, like the soft kiss of an immortal rosebud, barely quivered with a breath. The snow began to drift soundlessly like feather wisps, an untainted white through and through. The creature lowered his hood elegantly and a cascade of silken silver-gold spilled down his back like the ripples of dawn and morning glory. The snowflakes of winter's serenade nestled in his flowing tresses and adorned his head, upon which the light of heaven shone. He was a vision caught in a world of fragile things, immortal greenleaf of his beloved kindred. And into the lifeless wood, he wandered despondently, until he arrived upon a glade where the gray of twilight touched every snowflake before him. He stood with his fair head bowed and brilliant eyes closed. A frozen tear escaped him as his thoughts blossomed into memories of the man his heart longed for, his beloved brother lost to the bitter fate of mortality. The petals closed around the image of his wounding torment, held onto him, and withered into a slumped flower with those same petals falling away, one by one. There in that glade, the Elf lay upon the snow, heaven's creature painted in a blank canvas. Every cold snowflake that fell as he gazed up into his beloved gray sky kissed his fair face. Eyes closed, a sigh released.