The Weak Things of Earth

Woodland squirrels gathered and buried gold pocket watches.

Bluebirds migrated into the green and silent deep of mountain forest caves.

Hedgehogs were seen pushing books by flickering candlelight into their earthy burrows, sealing the entrance with dirt and stone and leaf.

Those ancient angels, the Owls, completely disappeared from earth. Once their feathers begun to glow bright white we suspected something was afoot. When the light collapsed to a single pin-point of diamond shine, as bright as fresh snow in sunlight, they shimmered, ruffled, and were never seen or heard from again.

Sparrows tinkered with a time-device they called Transience; majestic spire-like arrangements of twig, seed, and leaf that captured the rays of the sun and unlocked a bridge to a universe and time hitherto unseen.

Badgers gathered their old grimoires of garden magic, scattering a silver pine needle path to the trunks of the great oaks. Great woven glyphs of light spread across the surface of the trees, patterns of otherworld visions, perfumes of arbor blossoms, aromatic forest scents born on seven winds, each making their secreted way to the hearts of men.

Dryads danced through the trees, shooting stars of wild green, night moon bright in their eyes, tiny faces entwined by air and the flowers of joy. Sisters of leaf and hidden moss, ordinarily timid and most shy, revealed an ancient candlelit path that, when mingled with the Golden One, brings forth an unearthly, almost eerie, peace.

The waters of earth were not left without mystery.

Seahorses left the oceans in great numbers, spirited skyward to hide in the virgin clouds. They were enticed to this sky realm, they said, “by living flames and the sound of the great storm harps of the dawn.”

Jellyfish carved enormous coral flutes which they released at midnight. They, along with the flutes, floated to all the barren places of the earth, some even reaching the moon. Fluttering starlight wings grew from their translucent tentacles, each ones glides on a small sea of gold.

None could ever forget the doves, millions of white wings, each carrying a severed olive branch in its beak.

These they scattered all over our cities and towns. Military bases, places of great violence, pain, and sorrow, were buried knee deep; the branches then began to sing. It was a hymn so haunting, so beautiful, a luscious caress of all the prayers the earth has ever heard. Words in a tongue that no one could understand, but whoever heard the sound fell to the ground and wept for days.

The weak things of the earth knew something we didn’t.

The children of earth, rich and poor, wise and foolish, regardless of religion, belief or vastness of learning, had no idea of the coming season.

“Fayre thee well, one and all, fayre thee well,” the wildflower ghosts cried, perfumed tears ascending, petals of crimson and light falling.

“Fayre thee well;
old ways mighty and ever sure.
Of dark oceans and fertile weariness,
of hearts torn by shadow’s grip of might
and strength’s eternal boast of angelic right.

Thy madness mingles,
a sadness drains,
thy restlessness grows—
a peace restrained.

But now the earth bids the rise of
a revolution of weakness;
the budding of an ancient life
is falling on all beings—
seen and unseen.

Drink down the moon,
her flame consume.
A weak and gentle majesty
be thy crown;
for sight is returning
enchanting the ground.”

© Stephen Roberts

View More

Follow me via:
Twitter | Pinterest | Tumblr Blog | Instagram | Geekography