Lucky was he
A cryptic tale of mixed fortunes
And away was the night, banished ahead of the moon. Only the heat of the cauldron sun could begin to stir the silence of the day. Cracked stones lined the furnace of forest and ash, a scorched temple of colour and life.
Peace and goodwill, peace and goodwill. That is what they say. Peace and goodwill.
The crystal stream escapes the flash of light and the twist of the journey’s end. Beads of sand and dust fall along his back as he scoops up the slippery water, drawing towards the shell of his bucket.
It’s a difficult life, living in an untouched paradise. Would it be the same tomorrow?
Homeward he turns, a lifeline of faith and remembrance. Over the morning of the rising valley, down across the sun and on towards the row of little stacked houses. A barn awaits, he enters slowly.
Ahh… the cold, refreshing shade. And now the family drinks. Lucky was he.