[open] To The Humming Meadow | Any

[Tomomi]

Tomomi

Is the world a happy place? Surely, it should be. The world is full of many things remenescent of happiness, from the flowers that bloomed underfoot, to the butterflies that fluttered leisurely by, and even the birds who sat in their nests, singing songs to the morning sun and rejoicing the arrival of another day. A sweet Summer song of her own hummed through her, starting from her chest and resonating all the way through her slender frame, a smile plastered firmly across her features as the melody passed her velveteen lips. 

Of all the happiness in the world though, negativity of many forms still shrouded, and became the daily for many, small or big, young or old, frail or strong, unfortunate events plagued all with no limit. Her own past still flashed through her mind, coming as small clips of events that once before felt like entire decades. What were once troubles that felt like bitter forevers now were reduced to small scenes that played through her head within seconds, yet the pain that they caused always lingered, never truly weakening. These sorrowful memories did nothing to dishearten her though, rather, they pushed her forward to today.

Tomomi's small hooves had lead her here to the meadow, where many gathered. The wind carried conversations of long ago, spoken forevers and passing stories. The chit chat that surrounded the area from others nearby rang through her soft ears, they spoke of today, of the days before, of stories and of truths, it was a cacophony of words that one truly did not have the time to untangle and understand in a short amount of time. Of all things though, she hoped to beckon conversation of her own here, to invite another soul to exchange passing words in hopes of a smile in return, she would do anything to light even a small spark of happiness within another being; and so, here she was. The pastel mare pranced delicately through the long grasses, her gait airy and carefree, as her head tossed gently this way and that, soft tendrils of hair catching the breeze as she moved fluidly and effortlessly through the foliage. 

I hold sunlight and swallow fireflies

[Andromake]

and troy came tumbling down

Andromache was the type of person that had often been described as "old for her age". Compared to her fellow fillies, she had always been more serious, more pragmatic. This didn't mean that she was better than them, or devoid of fun, of course, but she derived it from other ventures. From the moment she had been born her mother had told her that she was meant for something great. As a 4 year old those words had rung in her ears behind every decision she had made- will this be great, will I be seen as beautiful.

Greatness, for the Greeks, spanned 30 years between 100 years of chaos. Likewise, greatness had come and gone for Andromache with the beauty and transience of a butterfly. A butterfly that lasts 3 Summer days and dies quickly, but carries with it all the innocence and glory of a pure life. 

Andromache was no butterfly. If anything, she was a moth. This was even apparent in her seemingly unexciting appearance, the type of mare that could appear at any field at any time. Of course, it is not beauty alone that makes the world turn, but wit and intelligence as well, and of those she had been given plenty. 

She had been in this particular meadow for a few days now, and she had not shared words with many. When she slept, fire still made her nostrils flare and her eyes sting. She was in no rush to be acquainted. No, in many ways Andromache was still tarnished by what she had left behind. But the grief sat steady within her barrel of a chest. One wouldn't see it from a distance, for she grazed at the outskirts of collectives just like anyone else; borrowed their protection. 

One thing that did delight her, though, was the variation in the horses around her. Where she had come from, the most spectacular being had been Menelaus' mare; a palomino sabino. But here, horses seemed to burst with colour and intrigue. Entire days could be passed in Andromache just admiring the others who shared the grass with her. She loved to watch their dynamics too; to watch the fillies and their mothers, to watch colts and fillies playing in that time before they had yet learnt what it was to love or hate. 

On this day, her gaze was focused on a small pink-coloured filly. She could hardly be an adult, with the way she traversed the terrain. Andromache watched her with a slight eagerness for whatever journey she would be lead to. 

@Tomomi

andromache

Photo by Євгеній Симоненко from Pexels