Aeal

Promise

On the softest flutter of the wind, there lies a whisper. When dawn breaks, as the sun arises on golden wings that spread to cover the whole earth, that whisper is there, watching the sun slip out of the sea’s embrace. And in the wide eye of the ocean, the bright morning is reflected infinitely; a living mirror that capture’s the sky’s flushing glory. The gold and blue that should make green mingle in the water, and the wind stirs the waves, still whispering. Brilliant, clothed in an azure so pure it hurts the eyes, the reaches of air ring also with a silent sound: a whisper. Up where it seems to be without end, clouds softly veil the sky, reminding again of the whisper. Soft rain falls, swirling into the dark depths of the sea, sending the whisper into even the ocean’s heart. And everywhere, it is echoed. All things softly repeat it, incorporating its words into their own beauty, making themselves more full by its presence. The air hums with power, waiting to descend in a bright, painful moment. Yet when it does, of all the sound it carries, the one without utterance resounds the loudest. The whisper is carried in the singing waves, in the rainbow’s soft glow, in the dark heart of the sea and the brilliance of the sun. With the fading gold and red, melting into deep purples and blues, it echoes, a single soundless whisper that touches the whole earth, even to the last timbres of the song. The softest wings of the wind carry a whisper across the waning glory and coming night. It simply says “Remember… always, always

remember.”


Do the words one utters before death tend to be truer, or can they be a lie?
--Subaru, X/1999