the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
The Meadow is quiet, but it’s calm isn’t reassuring today.
It’s probably because I know what will come to pass this afternoon; an hour, maybe two, I cannot tell exactly when. Winter is here, and I fit in like a dream - once again. My unending whiteness draws the eye of some, representing snow not yet fallen, or perhaps a purity they’d like to achieve. They don’t know how messed up I feel sometimes, they don’t know how hard it is to keep a straight and neutral face in trying times, to put on a motherly smile and know that some of my (figurative) children cannot be steered back to what they once were, and I can only love them in return of their sometimes harsh actions - love them and hope it gets better. I’ll be there when you break down, that smile says. I’ll be waiting for you and I won’t judge.
Not judging is very hard to do though. I must be careful not to judge my friends, or my former friends, acquaintances. I don’t know everything, even if I now know more than I knew before - but I don’t know the past, and the future comes in flashes of certainty that I feel more than I see it.
I must be here today, and I must intervene for the good of the future.
But why, and how, remains a mystery for now.
And so I wander the dried grasses, aimlessly and purposefully at the same time. I greet mothers with near-yearling children, I nod at the occasional stallion coming here for a bite of the green-ish stalks before the first snowfall. Hyaline, I muse to myself, must be covered already. The passes may be filled already - has it really already been a year since I last went there? All I remember of last year seems to be passing in a blur; and I know I haven’t really, actually visited, for a long while. Too long. Stuck in the Cove and the Field, set on finding people to help hide from the plague, now set on keeping the peace in the realm that is dear to me, but finding it near impossible to do so.
I wander, and I wonder.