Dark was the night.
He sat there, wistfully drawing a tune out of the old lute;
All around him, the world was whispering, full of life,
But he only had eyes for that bright point in the sky, just out of reach…
So beautiful, he thought, lost in a sea of wonder.
Something shifted beside him – startled, he turned.
A curious crow, glistening in the starlight, ruffled its wings before him.
“Why stop playing, young boy?” said the crow; the boy was suddenly aware of the silence creeping through the night.
He began plucking the strings lightly again, articulating a yearning lament older than Time itself.
“For whom do you play, little one?” the crow asked, hopping onto a closer branch, “The whole forest is listening…”
“’Tis the Morning Star, dear friend, she is oh so beautiful – I hope that one day she will be mine,” said he, filled with conviction.
The crow cocked its head, “And why not join that Star of yours on her endless journey through the sky?”
“I cannot fly, oh black one” cried the boy, indignant; staring at the crow’s wings.
The crow unfurled them and leapt across to a nearby tuft of grass, never taking its eyes off the boy.
“Well, she is yours for tonight, if you please, my child,” it blinked, “but do not defy yourself in thinking you shall ever remain so intertwined…”
“But she will return, she always does…though the day passes like years…” protested the boy.
The crow took one last look at him – “Your paths may cross, indeed, yet no day is the same as another…”, and with that it flew off.
The boy looked down at his instrument, now silent in the grass…
Words echoed in his ears: “Remember, the forest is always yours, remember…”
~ Jordan Strobach-Morris, 07.08.2015