30 Days - Transformation

[felicitygs]

 There is a certain sound to real pearls, a click-clack roll in the ear feel that synthetics have never quite mirrored, but no one listens for these days.

 

Listen, listen, she murmurs. Click-clack roll in the ear, and you savour the sound on your tongue before you repeat it, hollow facsimilie but close enough, you think, close enough.

 

There is a characteristic to change that involves blood and rebirth, ancient and old and you stamp your feet on the ground, to make another drumbeat, a heartbeat, the sound just before a charge, and rolls and overlaps with the sound of the pearls in your hand.

 

Blood and bone and so much more and you smile wide, stamp your feet, and lean your head back. The rain has its own percussion, a softer one, the mourning of the past, what is left behind.

 

Good, you think, someone must mourn what ends.

 

Sea and earth and air; all that’s left is fire, and that is all you are, fire, so in truth you have even that.

 

From your ashes, they say, will rise another tree, a different tree, and a dead dead god and his wife.

 

You will be an end, she says.

 

No, you correct. I am a beginning.