Midnight in the garden of good and evil

"My heart leaps up when I behold

A rainbow in the sky:

So was it when my life began;

So is it now I am a man;

So be it when I shall grow old,

Or let me die!

The Child is father of the Man;

I could wish my days to be

Bound each to each by natural piety."


 
William Wordsworth 1802.


 
He awoke with a start, drew a deep breath and grimaced as the piercing cold air entered his lungs. A wave of pain engulfed him; he felt it spread from the base of his skull across the right side of his head. A sharp pain poked and prodded like an imp with the devil's own pitchfork was trying to escape its prison. He held it tightly in his hands, spreading his fingers to hold as much of it as he could. He felt the poking move to his right eye, screaming in agony, he pressed his palms down on the eye and then he felt consciousness leaving him. He passed out, tumbling to the forest floor his head coming to rest a few inches from the trunk of a dead Baka tree.

The forest was dark. Scattered showers of light escaped the dense canopy of the Baka trees, painting an endless twilight for the creatures that lived on its floor. There was only night and distant light, it was the land of the eternal forest night. Vines covered the floor, twisting and twining around the tree trunks and branches of the fallen trees. Hued with the lightest shade of blue, the elongated tendrils and leaves glowed with the most delightful display of nightlights; it was as if the stars themselves had come down from the heavens. A soft wind blew, whipping the lights in all directions, there were patches of water that formed pools around the stumps and dying roots of the fallen trees, reeds grew in them.

The water is still where the reeds lie and sway, though it be by that river of old, and there is a tale told by the weavers that only those born of the clan are told. It is not that bedtime story, nor is it the tattletales' song of who did what with whom and where, no, it is a story that only the weavers know, and only the weaver knows its ending.

The Weaver spoke to her son, on that flight to the Kingdom of Old, where the dragons reign. He said, you have a soul mate, and then there's something about having three more and then life is just weird, but nice at the same time. The Weaver's son speaks.

Out there, when all on this good earth has long since gone, for we are nothing but mirrors of the past, except, that we can move on! A ship will sail to the lands of the weavers, a mother will feel her son taken as the weaver turns, bowing as the old prophecy has foretold, "The Child is father of the Man; I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety."

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Howl's Moving Castle