Opus. (of a deer and an owl)

It was floating gracefully, like the smoke and mist of an empty skull,

unsettling, but somehow cozy, as a sun uncertain started preparing for the

night; a dragon rested looking downwards into the earth.

A playing field of chess and war. Forged by lust and vengeance, violence

of the worst of kinds. Crimes committed by unwise, bored and powerful

gods.

A woman watched the mirrored lake, observing another version of her

rather apocalyptic present. She played a golden harp so gracefully, that

even the gods made truce so they could enjoy such opus.

An opus of millennia, composed by the most wise and oldest of owls.

White feathered with amber eyes, watched still and forlorn as, once again,

all of these events were planned, only to its knowledge.

A subtle change in history as a rather gentle wind beckened through almost

empty trees; all the leaves had fallen. Some were still dancing in the whirl,

like golden memories, mere echoes of the spring.

The owl sighs. There have been better times. But everything being

contemplated so much ago, he had nothing more to do, but watch. If its

dreams couldn't come true, why not pretend they were?

Oh, so much for such a wise and lone beast. Control of time and influence

over the physical plain; still trapped between the layers that convict life

and death as a whole.

Parted ways of never-beating heart. Timeless. Immortal. A void. The story

of a passing journey. Guardian of a place where there was nothing but a

bridge full of wandering souls without a destination.

Unconsolidated, the change occured, there was a game with higher stakes

over their heads, and the owl shifted its attention to the sunset taking place.

A rather warm sky to a graveyard for the reign of light.

Silently, on top of the orange-painted cloud awaits the dragon, the warden

of the secrets of the night. Watching a romance disguised as war, while the

moon wonders singing out loud. - Is it the sun chasing her or the other way

around?

The owl's eyes glowed in a now dead night. Until a beautiful casted

shadow by the light of the moon showed a deer drinking from the lake.

As the deer turned around, the owl felt its heart beat for the first time in

centuries. The woman had turned into a beast of golden horns and

sparkling eyes.

No one dared to look the owl in the eyes anymore until that deer came

through, and so the horned beast sat down to listen to the so wise owl’s

tales.

Each other fell in love. The deer loved the owl’s wisdom. And the owl

adored the freedom the deer was breathing. And so, before parting , the

deer swore to the owl they’d be together again when she came back from

finding that freeing stream of clear water.

And still today, the flying guardian awaits for its lover of freedom to come

back. And the owl isn’t worried for the deer, it actually keeps its heart

warm.

Because time is slow, yet unnoticeably fast. Eternal yet ephemeral. Patient,

yet rewarding. And patient; patient is the night.

For time is like a gentle stream, always longer than it seems.

And the patient owl knew the deer would never late, yet anxiously he still

awaits.

-horus;