The Alchemists of Dawn
The marks of time tell
of hours and years gained,
as myriad paths in life
and thought remain unchained.
That morning at twilight, Elecke stood under the night sky tending to a cooking pot hung over a lively fire that she had built from the fallen branches of stars. The contents bubbled in the hushed stillness as the night’s sky faded into a canvas that carried the chill that introduced the new day where silhouettes of trees and buildings emerged from the shadows.
Into the concoction, Elecke sprinkled sky-grown fragments, leftovers from the receding night and from the soft orange and pink colourings of the rising sun that had begun to make its way up the sky. Then, with her moon-rock ladle, which she kept on a platter near the pot, she stirred the mixture, guiding its transformation as light pastel colours melted and merged.
Elecke was happy. When she viewed the contents they showed a clear, light-filled vibrance, and she knew this palette would introduce another fine day. And as the world began to stir, bird song, rustling leaves and early risers beckoned; and in the minutes suspended between night and day Elecky prepared to pour the mixture.
But just as she bent to lift the handle she noticed a black cloud, a large rumbliing cube type construction; it had sharp, clean edges, and as she watched it, it slowly descended over the dawn proceedings; its dark vibrating presence settling beside the rim of her cooking pot. Its width, height and length threatening to disrupt the delicate balance of her work.
This was not part of her usual ritual, even with occasional weather interference summer twilight offered an ease of access that was adorable to work with and Elecky was a designer of fair weather. But also at this hour, she was aware that she had only minutes to go, minutes to add her summer prologue, so it was with a heavy heart that she called out, 'Who's there?'
Her raised voice, was a roar that echoed back to her in the half-light.
And as she waited and as the reverberation faded from behind the cloud, a gusting mist began to sway.
The Mist
From the black collective might
shadowed footsteps built stairs
that had serrated-knife-like bites
then black eyes appeared
to gleam with devilish delight:
eyes that held the might of the deep,
the dark and night-sight.
And Elecke, a sprite of some renown, recognized Cane, the Tempest Keeper: The bringer of storm.
'You!' she exclaimed.
'Indeed, me,' Cane agreed, 'but you must know that even peace must be tested so that it might grow.'
And in her heart, a knowing transpired.
Elecke momentarily pondered the image of the lovely sunrise juxtaposed with war-like storm effects of striking colour and brooding tones, the artful strong primaries that all else pulled from, and thinking fast, she replied.
'Very well, but we must work together and! do it now!'
Cane aware of the urgency required, nodded and with a wave of his hand, he channeled the cloud's energy.
The Cloud
From its center,
a metaphorical temper flowed,
it flowed out of the mist
on notes illustrated on clef bars.
It flowed in streaks
of electric blue,
so bold.
In bolts of gold.
In patterns.
in designs foretold.
In swirling purples, deep and grand,
With hues of peach and silver strands.
In opulent yellows, in vibrant sites,
All intertwined with storm's foresight.
Then Elecke added a few drops of liquid starlight which shimmered as it touched the surface.
Turning towards Cane, she handed him a ladle and invited him to help her stir the mixture.
Together they mashed and ladled, mixed and pounded, and as the concoction bubbled up, a gradient effect settled on its surface and together they lifted the pot and poured the contents over the horizon.
Leaning over the edge, they watched it drip, dribble and run as the sky exploded into a twisting dance of glossy and opaque unity--and its breath touched all with a feeling of renewal and possibility.
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Mari: July 2024, Portnashanagan
