Work Text:
From the crevice between a cliff and a valley of trees, mounds of clay laid.
Sun and drops of water trinkle around the mound, carrying with it the song of the world, of hums and sounds.
Existence in itself it's treasure, what waters and sunlight it captures into itself become it's proof of such.
Eons elapse for the world in sound and motion, clay is moved and given mould, moss, marble and gems give it flesh, skin and soul. The marvel of its shaping continued, until the eon came when the clay had sight and mind, when it could see the warm, blinding touch of the sun in its eyes, and the cold, firm base of the soil beneath the body.
So it did stand, with gentle motion, to know the new treasure it had received, the body, it's clay mould turned into, and the glint of colors within itself, that held inside the memories of it's treasure, given body as well.
Travel it did, to follow the streams between the soil, to find the nest of birds above their head, to chase the sun setting, during every dark absence. The glint did grow, as more treasures it found turned memories, the revelry of the world was the treasure it coveted for itself.
Yet time did come, for glimmers to dull, as does the sun sets, something more for it to gain.
The glint within them neglected, the pursuit for more treasures embrittled their skin, the pursuit for more, buried the precious, small glint beneath blinding sumps that glimmered like it.
Yet for all that glimmer, it did not glint like that first glint it had. For all that pursuit, it caught nothing as precious. As their once hollow vessel turned replete, never had they felt loss quite like it before.
Emptied themselves, they did, to find what once lifted them from the soil bed they rose from, rummage inside themselves, they did, to hold what once they saw so clear.
Yet the glint within, what once was there, they know nowhere to look further. The hummings and splendors they so deeply desired, the revelries it so deeply longed for, where could they be now, it mourned.
Another eon had passed since they first had mind, in the quiet company of the brilliant specks in the sea above, it had learned and gained, in earnest, loss. The hollowness of itself, the vacuity of its existence, it resigned itself to all but one thing left; to hear the sounds the world still makes, after discarding even those from within itself.
It could hear....
...The croaks of toads.
...The creeks of bugs.
...The whispers of the wind.
These and more, it has heard before. Yet it thought more. It thought to listen deeper, hear as deep as it's hands once could dig, as deep its eyes once could gaze.
It heard the proud toads in their marsh, their desire to prove their strength, and to live for the tomorrow's to come.
It heard the crickets' calling for their mate, their desire to procreate, to see that their kind continue beyond the tomorrow's they'll live to see.
It heard the wind softly speak of these and more, from the distant past they came from, to the future lands they'll find their way in, with no desire, simply carrying with it the revelries of life that exists around it.
It thought to hear, perhaps even deeper than this. It sought to know what it was like to carry on the sounds and touch of the world within oneself, for nothing else but to exist alongside with the world itself.
And there, it heard even more, the sounds of water flowing, the coddling of bears and their cubs, the laughter's of man before the fire, the gentle purring of cats, the world itself, breathing and moving.
It was there that it found, the glint it once found within itself, shining brighter than it ever knew it could've, within every blade of grass, within every drop of water, within every creature's eyes, the blinding sunlight being found within everything.
It found the world itself so precious, irreplaceable. It found the sea of glints it once could only see in the darkness at valleys, out in like it were in the broadness of daylight.
And there, it did, thought to do something the same, yet something so different.
The hollow vessel that was itself, it chose to house these fleeting reveries, that their preciousness would never become lost, that even should the world lost them in presence may they not be lost in essence.
Slowly, surely, letting their glints find their way within it, letting the reveries of the world it so deeply loved into itself, for them to bear, to bring towards the tomorrow it itself can carry to.
And eons passed.
The glints of both past and present still remain, as precious as the moment they were found. And the glints of tomorrow that may yet find their way to existence, will surely be welcomed by it.
And eons passed.
The laughter's and endearment and wine of yesteryear remain fresh in it's vessel, as though they were mere seconds old.
And eons passed.
The world itself found itself within it, and it found its way into become the very world it so deeply loved, as full as it once was, yet plenty hollow enough for more glints from tomorrow to find their way in, that their reveries and more, may continue for as long as it has room for the love they have for the world within themselves.
The revelries that it once pursued in fear of loss, the reveries that it now and will continue to cherish in love for the world.
That perhaps these glints of things and living beings within itself may one day come to find the love it has for them, just as it itself once found.