Floating among the swerving ridges of the Blue Mountains. Following a young path in ancient evergreen depths. At the bottom of a hazy afternoon.
I made my way into the hidden city. And there at the end of Lightning Road, I found the folk of Grey Havens gathering for another Hall of Fire. Whatever we might choose to say to one another, their murmuring sounded glad – their minds and hearts and hands.
It’s 5:14 and the magic word is “Goldberry”
Nine of us there were who set forth upon the endless road outside our door
Across a breezy mountainside we walked both farther and further
Liritar lit the fire and the storytelling began in the Hall of Fire
The Hall of Fire slowly filled with historians and ghosts
and it seemed like five years later when Reodwyn read her poetry
Clan Colby wrestled with dragons, a very lively play in verse
“St. George and the Dragon and the Censor”
Bill Kelso brought a lovely poem to share
“Pencil Me In”
Liritar took us into the West
with Aldo Leopold and Baxter Black
Elisha performed for us the magic of Night Circus
Amia read from Sherwood Smith’s “King’s Shield”
Kate Trowe read a Neil Gaiman lecture
Katy took everyone down “Two Rivers” to “Ithaca”
Dyhrddrdh shared with us her favorite Strange Candy
Beyond the Forbidden Forest, in the Great Hall of Fire
Kelly summoned us into “The Prince’s Tale”
In Donna’s “The Miracle of the Wet Birds”
we long ago took a holiday in the rain
Krista gave a 100% perfect reading of Haruki Murakami’s
“On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning”
All night we murmured to one another. An ocean of wind deepened across the Blue Mountains. Burning stars and burning lamps drifted in the dark surrounding sea of the hidden city. We sat murmuring together among ashes and smoke and firelight.
The splendor of the world curved away slowly under the wind, filled with garlic and sapphires, the sparrow rustling for rent, a gentle ode to a watch at night. We bowed before the archaic torso of Apollo, and a few of us went on with our stories, recollecting the epiphanies that matter. And slowly people dropped off the distant edges of the cosmos into their little inner realms.
And so my next journey took me down the dark purple slopes of the Blue Mountains. A coyote hurried across the road. Several very wild animals passed me, so swiftly bent on their errands each night – we all keep doing the next thing that must be done. We select the paths we will follow, the things we will take with us, the poems we wish to read.
I floated into a sleepy city at the feet of the Blue Mountains. And almost at the end of the story between night and dawn, on the forgotten shore of an ancient sea, I hurried on my way now. And there, on the other side of the dreaming city, daybreak suddenly broke.