Whispering
to the Edge of the Horizon
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I set these words down as the first traces of a journey, not yet a legacy, not yet a treasure. They are the opening steps toward something still unseen, like footprints pressed into sand at the edge of the tide.
With time, they will gather into something whole, kept safe like a chest carried forward through the hours, waiting to be opened at the horizon.
Mountains rose and plains spread wide. Volcanoes roared, rivers ran, and oceans formed in the cooling dark. Forests sprouted, deserts sprawled, glaciers shone.
Mountains rose and plains spread wide. Volcanoes roared, rivers ran, and oceans formed in the cooling dark. Forests sprouted, deserts sprawled, glaciers shone.
Yet fire remained restless. Without war and destruction, he had nothing to burn.
