Aurora

A little burn trickles, not far from where I sit, writing this now. It is not an ostentatious brook. It was never meant to be. An observant man might have found it sooner; I learned of its existence only a fortnight past. It is not obvious, no, but it is not hidden, either. For those listening, carefully heeding the sussurrus of the wind, it beckons. I found it thus. Perhaps you may, also.

The moon was low, and words were scarce that night, flightier than dreams. A corner lamp flickered with weakening fluorescence, and the empty parchment shone a dim gold on my antique mahogany desk.Through the drawn shades, a whiff of breeze fluttered the violet curtains, and the sound of trees swished outside. I knuckled my forehead, praying for even a paucity of words, even one that sounded... precious. I sighed and pushed myself back in the chair, the front legs raised off the ground as I leaned back, my tenuous grip on the desk's rim allowing my precarious perch.
Abruptly the wind stopped, and there was silence: no owl hru-hru, no kiro-kiro of toads, none of the cautious pips of nighttime birds or the rustling creatures in the underbrush. Straining, I heard but a tiny trickle, as of a faucet left running over dishes. I got up slowly and tip-tapped towards the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the cherry-wood floor.
The sound almost receded as I entered the kitchen, and I knew it was behind me. A cursory glimpse around the home revealed no tap or spigot unplugged. The sound originated from outside. I didn't even bother with my shoes, pushing open the sliding glass door with surreptitious care. The pine needles and softened sticks littering the ground felt natural, familiar under my feet, though I'd never walked such before. Moonlight filtered through the trees, and when I glanced up, I noticed it was lower than I'd expected, and fuller. Indeed, a full moon shone through the glade the color of decaying parchment, an ancient, yellowed moon, old and gnostic in the sky.
I crept down the hillside into the deeper woods behind my plot, surprised at the soundlessness of my feet against the earth. The trickling grew louder. I imagined I must be drawing near, for the sound filled my ears with a half-music, a fluting whistle and a brush of graceful fingers across an aqueous harp. Soon I saw it, nestled among the river-smooth stones in the crook of the hillside. Trees and flowers jigsawed around the burn protectively, and I brushed past, the champagne moon casting a chill lunar light over my shoulder, reflecting in the water as a rippled face, timeless and patient.
It smelled different here, distant, as though this stream was the stuff of memories and I merely a player on a stage of stories. A rustling noise, and I heard a shape across the creek.
"Hello?" I asked, my voice sounding invasive in the calm. A shape darted across the other side, and moonlight displayed a feminine figure briefly, before it passed into the trees, rustling and then silent. I clambered across the water, parting the tall grass and stepping across the burn by means of the great stones.
"Hello?" I called again, curious at this fantastic coincidence. Who else would have found this brook this night? As I stepped onto the other shore, a blinding light struck me, and a loud roar filled my eardrums like a typhoon.
I collapsed, curling into a ball to protect myself from the noises, the lights burning into me, before I realized everything was within my head. What must have been centuries later, or moments, I opened my eyes. A strange lilting voice replaced the hurricane in my head, a sweet and sorrowful song, both - the most beautiful I'd ever heard. Was it that woman I'd seen? Colors filled my vision, and I could see nothing but. Crimsons and greens, violet and cobalt and silver, as though I'd stepped into the northern lights, and stood amidst their ephemeral threads. As the voice sang, the colors changed, like ribbons of melody distorting and contorting with the voice, an intricate dance of color so beautiful, I stayed entranced for another eternity, breathing, drinking, swallowing up that aria of hues, saturated in sound.


To be continued...