Farewell Lament

The walker and the watcher were certainly an odd pair, seeing as they were rather opposites. One was swift, seeking escape and wonder in her youth, while the other’s tender soul thrummed deeply within the earth, never drifting far from where she first came to be. What curious fortune brought about their beginning cannot possibly be explained by such an observer as me, for it is these unlikely devotions that are often due to a divine intention, and such notions are perfectly incomprehensible; however, what made them return to one another was what they shared. They were both fairly mournful and found in this eternal admiration of sorrow a sort of tragic destiny, yet each was also profoundly moved by the joy in simple things...which they found intricately unique and magical. Mostly, though, they treasured the free and gentle comfort of the other’s presence. The walker knew not the ways of the watcher. They were not of a similar sort of creature, nor did they speak the same words. But that did not matter, for they loved each other. In her most horrifying and passionate moments, the walker would come to the watcher and they would share those grand emotions together in silence. Many moons passed in shadow as the watcher witnessed the walker crack then shatter to silver dust. She held the ash upon her great palms, awaiting the savior that she knew must come. She laid testimony to the golden light, as it shone upon that dust and molded it into a terrible and stunning thing. She observed the destruction and resurrection of her piercing silver companion, for it was their love that had held the walker when there was no other compassion to lay anchor. It pained the watcher to behold such heartache, yet she never left the walker, and the walker never failed to appear in her midsts. The shrill calls of fate cannot be muted in their severity; however, and the day of farewell lament towered before them. They were often silent companions, but this time, the walker spoke aloud. “I believe, perhaps, we both knew this day would come. My darling Willa, you must forgive me. I will not, hereafter, lie beside you again. A child will come, someday, and share with you, but it will not be me. I’m a tragedy, Willa, and you always knew it.” The walker was not mistaken in her speech. The watcher had known this time would come. It was always a manner of passing with the child’s kind, and the watcher was born of the sort that look upon the earth as it whirls by. She could form no words for the swift youth, yet Wind aided in her response. The walker embraced her steady spine and kissed the jewels upon her boughs. “Farewell, my darling Willa.”