placidia
Bleak was the winter that Zargon the dragon came to Nethertown; bleak was the land when he left it; and bleaker still the prospects of those left behind to mourn their city, their kinsmen and their hopes.
spring came late that year, reluctant to mock the land's despair with promises of new life and harvest. But come it did, as all sorrows must end. New shoots of green covered the hills, and small, fresh leaves appeared on a few twigs from those trees not blasted to ash by zargon's path.
Bleak, though, was the land that year, and for a tenyear after that. Charred trees fell across dried stream beds; the waters scorched by the dragon's passing.
There was mist in the Green Belt today as I drove past in the number 38 bus. that means that fall is on its way. Mist is a sign of fall; a sign that the ambient temperature of the air is lower than the temperature of the water in the Ottawa river. The river holds the heat of summer for several weeks after the nights have begun to turn cold and the leaves begin the loose their freshness. The world turns brown; but first of all, in the morning, it turns grey; the grey of the mist.
I love the mist, but it is a sad thing; a creature of loss and the dying of the year. It is mysterious like death itself.And life.