the rocks might melt; the sea may burn. || circinae

[Canaan]

well, the good ol' days may not return,
and the rocks might melt, and the sea may burn.

  Autumn had arrived, with the morning touched with gentle beads of icy dew, and the evenings growing more and more frigid with each passing day. Long gone was the warm embrace of summer, with its brutal sunlight and still, humid air. The long, winding branches of the old, tired oak trees were slowly becoming bare as their drying, brittle leaves tore away from the stems that had once nourished them, leaving them to drift away within the gentle, brisk breeze. The sun no longer lingered far beyond its welcome, instead falling behind the vivid horizon earlier and earlier with each passing day, draping the once bright sky in a cloak of glittering darkness.

   He finally draws away from the shadows of a looming branch, no longer needing the soothing caress of its shadow, his eyes glued to the blanket of stars that loom overhead. The grandeur of the sky had always enthralled him. The drifting, blossoming clouds. The way the sun would rise and set in the sky, painting it in various hues of cobalt, indigo, magenta and tangerine along its journey. The sky is where he felt he belonged most, with the wind beneath his wings and the brim of an endless sky just beyond his reach. Nothing had ever come close. 

   A wistful sigh emerges from his parted, whiskered lips, his bright hazel eyes peering off into the distance at nothing in particular. The soft, subtle chirping of crickets reminds him that the long, hot nights are in the not so distant past, and the rustling of dying foliage only serves to soothe his restless soul. He had not been home in many nights - he had grown tired of the molten, pooling magma, and the thick, hot air - not to mention the dusting of volcanic ash that always seemed to find a way to weave its way into his dark feathers. As time went on, and as he grew older, his heart and mind grew wanton for something unknown. Something he could not describe; something more.

   Alas, he had yet to find it. 
   He wondered if he ever would.

   Pathetic, he chided himself with a low chuckle, the muscles beneath his golden skin rolling and moving smoothly with each lazy stride forward. Boredom could do miraculous things to a discontented mind.

Canaan

@[Circinae]