I could feel the life of that ancient tree pulsing through every fiber of wood inside of it, the life of everyone who was and ever would be there: children, elders, fathers, mothers. And Mom, finally resting and waiting with love for the baby to come. Love. It wrapped itself around me in the fair breeze pouring in, the branches stretching their way to the High Sky, and the fountain of water waiting to quench the thirst of the poor, tired faery that stayed there. It was the perfect environment for rest and recovery. It had been a long day.
I attempted to recall what had occurred in my day by sweeping away the fog covering the harbor of my memory. It faded in the sort of way that you don’t quite realize, until everything is crystal clear, and the water is smooth as glass as the little boat of the memory you desire to reexplore drifts closer to shore, and you peer inside to find the thing you seek.
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