03-10-2017, 11:37 AM
Winter glimmers with it's dying light. The frost and snow give way to a mix of sopping rain, dripping and cold off the end of his whiskered lips. The winged male stands still as stone as he watches how the sun creeps from it's bed in a sleepy-eyed yawn. Silver eyes admire the way the sky bleeds into the darkness of the night sky. Banishing the moon and stars to their beds.
Vivid pinks, oranges, and golds.
The sky dresses herself in the finest textiles so she may rule the hours while in awe of her subjects. Lior breaks his stance now. Black marble coming to life, hard and shining. The cold rain has burned off in the wink of sunlight and so he moves towards the open meadow. Finely feathered hooves lift in fall rhythmically as he walks. Each leather wing upon his back lifts to shake off the collected rain, first one and then the other. Lior admits silently to himself that he could enjoy a touch of warmth. The winter has felt as thought it has lingered for too long.
He finds a place to root himself, the sound of his own blood pumping is the only sound that reaches him. In the early morning hours, the animals still slept except for him.
This was his hour. This is the sacred peace when the world shifts, changes, is reborn under his watchful mercury eyes.
Vivid pinks, oranges, and golds.
The sky dresses herself in the finest textiles so she may rule the hours while in awe of her subjects. Lior breaks his stance now. Black marble coming to life, hard and shining. The cold rain has burned off in the wink of sunlight and so he moves towards the open meadow. Finely feathered hooves lift in fall rhythmically as he walks. Each leather wing upon his back lifts to shake off the collected rain, first one and then the other. Lior admits silently to himself that he could enjoy a touch of warmth. The winter has felt as thought it has lingered for too long.
He finds a place to root himself, the sound of his own blood pumping is the only sound that reaches him. In the early morning hours, the animals still slept except for him.
This was his hour. This is the sacred peace when the world shifts, changes, is reborn under his watchful mercury eyes.
I want you to remember