Sunday, May 16, 2010

The wedding upon the isle.

A voice calls, an invite, a wedding. The knight standing on the threshold of the new middle ages dons his tunic, mantle, fatigues and boots and takes heel northward. Called forth he travels weaving a wyrd web through the land; multilinearity.

The isle echoes through time, bastion against the invader ‘Choose yourself an island’. So many different days spent here, the crashing waves as a child, the stay during recovery, the docking of the ship, and now a wedding. The trees rush past the carriage, the fresh sea breeze.

Four becomes six, then spins through the quarters. What is to become has been