Very beautiful, very resounding within the caverns of the heart.
"To make oneself the wind.
To fly madly through golden hair.
To know the death of seasons, and weep."
-The Sky Messenger Delivers the Apple of Sorrow, Asiaticfox
^_^ I just wrote that right now. Tiff, all of your new pieces are inspiring me to write little bits of beauty and sorrow. Thank you.
Beauty and sorrow. Both completely different, and yet, I find, both exactly the same.
That's brilliant. Utterly brilliant. I think the word 'tributary' seems to bring the whole piece together. It also relates to the change of seasons. Time, as if water, rushes sadly through the tributaries to the sea. The sea of winter. It swims for an eternity, and then evaporates and pours down on the mountaintop, ready to descend once again.