A cold haze illuminates the sky. Silver orbs of light pollute mountaintops. The invaders bicker as they burn, so dull in conversation, I work hard to block their frequency.
I hear trains blowing in the distant stations as I let my mind drift, wander in thick forests of ideas and sleepy dreams. I steal hidden data encrypted in old trees:
“So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.”
I’m amazed. Nature is stubborn. The trees huddle together in defiant unity. No fear. Even while the sun and moon inch further away.
I know I don’t have to reside here. I could reach out to my power, I could tear the seams of space apart, like stiches in an old dress that doesn’t fit. I could flee. But then who would tell the story? I quiet my thoughts and start to record.
Written for Prosery: Doing our duty at dVerse where Ingrid hosts. The word count cannot exceed 144 words.
Tonight’s line is from William Blake’s poem ‘The Chimney Sweeper:’ In Songs of Innocence (1789)
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm