Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

The tower.

The ruins were all that remained in this long forgotten corner of the dark and far off woods.

The trees refused to grow upon those grounds as seas of grass covered all but the ancient tower. It seemed as though a curse lived within that soil  and in the stones themselves, where even the animals would refuse to tread and birds forsake a perch.

But the storm was coming in, and few other places offered shelter. Few places but that tower which stood with a silent pride, quietened by centuries of neglect.

The winds began to howl and the rain began to sputter, there was little time to seek out the relief which the tower alone could offer.

There between the walls the winds was heard but was not felt, the only shred of comfort left among the sounds of whistling, roaring air which brought now rain and hail.

So came the rain and hail as one with a roar echoed only by the wind. A deafening sound held just at bay by the remains of that old tower.

Perhaps this tower was the result of some great fortune, that the fates would weave up such a happenstance to give rest to the weary. But perhaps the fates saw better, within their very own way, to give life to the tower by weaving above a storm.

 

 

A prompt response.

11 thoughts on “The tower.”

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