04-05-2017, 10:48 PM
Canaan
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
The breeze is gentle – weaving through the tightly knit oak and pine and their spindly, wiry branches – rustling through bright, lively vegetation and rattling the dry and brittle bark. The usually vivid sky left dull and gray with a looming storm, and the atmosphere is dense with precipitation as the sun clashes with the boundary line of the heavy haze – letting only bleak, minuscule rays of light gleam onto the thicket canopy, and across the roaring water below. The woodland is quiet, dark – with no light to penetrate the unyielding shadow and the bristling frigidity, it is a serene respite from the humidity and heat of summer. Change is constant – as powerful and as relentless as the river itself, and perhaps that is in part why it feels so intricately woven in with the very thread he is built of. He had never denied change; it was impossible to resist and without it, each long and winding day would be stagnant and without purpose. He had known stability, and the comfort of steadiness by the hand of his own father – but he had grown bored; and longed for change.
And change had come.
The deafening roar of the water is soothing, drawing him out of the brush and into the pale light of day, his pallid skin gleaming within its dreary tint. His hazel eyes search along the perimeter of the riverside, a scent unfamiliar to him enveloping him as the soft mist of the rushing rapids cascades across him. Quietly, his long limbs carrying him south towards the lingering figure, observing the faint silver shade of her own skin, and the dark, tangled tresses that lay across her neck.
”Hello,” he says simply, though careful to raise his voice above the sound of the rumbling water. ”I haven’t seen you here before; welcome to the river. My name is Canaan – what is yours?”
and we never even know we have the key.