The Source

A light, a single warm glow shines in a world of dark decisions and ever present worries as we walk though the veil of mists from that which was once safe and towards a future cold and yet unknown. A rustle of wings, a shower of feathers a creator surveys all in his grasp on currents of magic and even as he paints on the surface of the wind his mind is drawn ells-were. Higher and higher till the atmosphere is but a faded dream whisked away by the beating of his wings and still his mind wanders farther and farther from him. To a shattered dream made whole, to a memory so warm it threatens to eclipse his brightest sun, and no matter what he creates or how many he knows this is one of a kind. Farther and faster his wings carry him through a place lit only by tiny motes of light like glitter in the wind towards a place he left long ago but can never forget. With a great flash the world around him is peeled away leaving only a trace in the eyes of a man whos wings are hidden, standing before a door to a simple house. The door opens and a smile spreads over his face as he says the words he could not bear to hold any longer....hi mom, how have you been?