SketchingGalaxies

There once was a young weaver who worked day and night at his craft. He worked so hard, in fact, that fairy-folk and elves came from surrounding villages to see him. Butterfly-lace shirts, satin vests, and skirts made from the silvered manes of unicorns- he could take any material given him and turn it into sheets of fabric, and then again into delightful garments. At least, he liked to imagine that he could. You see, this talented, young weaver had an adventurous spirit. He never worked with the same material twice in a row, and never more than four times a month. It was too easy to get lazy that way. So, each evening, after he'd closed hi

i still see his hands coated in soil mud dirt playing god coaxing seeds to life bringing his creations to us maybe that was his love the calluses from wooden shovels from making wooden fences from the circle-purple grapes the quarter-blueberries the furry peaches maybe he loved us the same way the cat did secretly perched atop my toddler bed until dawn danced on my fluttering lids, leaving before the morning sun would make stark her black in the light maybe he loved us through the water and earth and wind that fed his garden plants maybe he loved us with the force of sunlight but we just never knew

in the next life you were a phoenix a fiery resurrection songbird of ash & second chances when you flew south for the winter, you made it every time see for you, the universe was an olympic mountain jutting out of the ocean, a temple you would never set foot in an elaborate maze you'd been lost in for too long; the only love you'd ever known was from the coalfire of your father's hands in the dark, they were the most angelic monsters, they were beacons his mind was the gears of a clock that never stopped spinning but the light, the light was a promise to be seen the fire, a dancing enchanter that never leaves the future was an echo on t