Squinting, as if to focus light, the old man closed his scroll and retreated from the oppressive dusk. It has been long since he used to keep vigil for the wraiths and heralds of night, for none sought his company...
As the day descended behind the roseate hills, two young fellow animals entered his hutch: two Samaritan virgins, smoother and gentler than morning sunlight; one, eburnean and graceful as a water lily; the other, dark and fragrant as cinnamon. He stroked them, divine, as they placed merciful amorous flaming kisses over his famished body. They gazed themselves, entwining, transmuted into a whirling flash, trailing its Star; the cradle, sail and anchorage of all that has lived, lives and shall live. As they, three, fused in flight and embracing all, voyaged ceaselessly through the rapturous groves of creation, he loved them ever more, caressing their greyed tresses and wilted frames. All rifts they brought to naught. Blazing bright through the Aeons, gradually they became more earthen, regaining mass, fathoming that the journey would take longer than their lifetime. Time re-conquered Space, along Space re-conquered them. Distended them. Finally, all the celestial vortex could still do was to pulsate and expire on the crust of the sky.
***
The hermit stirred as moonlight tickled his beard. Embracing it, he let tear-drops water its roots. Then he got up, and began to seal his cave with blocks of stone.
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