Another day at the beach, glittery, wholesome, whole. Ah my Lyria. The warrior queen will likely try to shape it in words, but I will simply admire her.
Much of the time was spent under a willow. A careless sort of tree, quick and easy growth, prone to shatter, and yet a welcome place: full of shade, and a few small worms. When the others go out onto the sand to the shoreline, I feel as though I wait behind. It is a little bright for me, a little too much of an expanse. Only Magdalena would have conceived a lake and hers now is fouled.
Yesterday I was pressed against another tree, truly. I am not used to it, such clarity. One who wishes to learn the old grooves before carving anew.
For me it was an uneasy night, full of scent and memory.
(Not a prophesy.)
But I crave another. In time.