Change Is In the Air

I was nearly finished with chapter eight.  My pen trickled ink down the front of my shirt as I scratched the story into the parchment pages of “The Taftkan Marterials”.

A wind blew the French, glass windows open.  They were behind me.  I wasn’t sitting on my bed, writing, like I was.  I was at a desk in a small office, lit only by the sun shining through these glass panes.  The book was whole again; the pages were rejoined with the leather binding.

I closed the book, the golden lettering smiled up at me.  I caressed the imprint of a Dragon–my Dragon–Forest Moon.  The wind blew again, and I could hear the tinkling of Christmas bells on it: a sign of magic calling.  I went to the open window and gazed at my garden.

I wasn’t in Taftka.  Or maybe I was, I am never sure when I come to this place.  This place just calls to me, and I am there.  I never have to think to come here, like I do with Taftka.  The doors in this place have taken me both back home and to Taftka.  Maybe this is some place in between.  It is a solitary place; I never find anyone here when I am.  There are signs of life all around the place, though.  Beds unmade, sinks full of dishes, and half finished sculptures just to name a few.

The wind was magical, I could taste it.  And the wonderful music it made as it caressed the trees.  It nipped at my nose when it flew across my face.  Destiny had called for a moment of silence.  Thankfully, I found it.

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2 Comments

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  By Rosie, 1 October 2009 @ 2:12 PM

  I like it…

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  By Joeysan, 1 October 2009 @ 2:29 PM

  I’m glad you do, lol.

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