Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

Blue clouds.

I caught a glimpse upon the distance, what the horizon allowed to be seen. A sky as blue as any other, but darker than had ever been.

Clouds rise from the edge of the world, dark as shadow and deepest blue, as though the sea had reason to the heavens above and threatened to wash all things away.

Now upon the world I stand, dry for this moment I am in, but I can smell that earth and tree alike know what it coming. Parched from weeks and months from a sky that listens not to their prayers. They dig and so do we to the depths where water flows above the clay, held in place by rock.

It is time to set aside all tasks and ready for what will come. For when the sea above the sky bursts forth there will be no fires which can be lit save for those already burning, shielded, housed and tended out of reach.

As tears of Gods that weep for all the gifts which had been squandered, so shall the coming rains fall upon this used and troubled earth.

I pray it washes away those things which turn blood and folk against their own, which makes glorious the destruction of nature and the gifts which had been given, made or preserved by ancestors so often forgotten.

I see the blue upon the edge of the world and know it will come closer but I will not sound the alarm.

Too many things must yet be washed away, as too many horrendous things survive.

I retreat as the blue of sky is taken over by the grey and blue of cloud. The winds come just before the drops, the storm soon thereafter.

The world will fall to the silence of the sounds of whipping winds and rains which come as waterfalls to deafen and overwhelm.

I hope to hear my fire burn as the world is washed away.

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