Pobble and the Firebird

Within a dream's twinkelling when Storyspeak was younger than he is now, he used to tell the tale of that which is to follow.

 It took him many millenia to find the cord with which to spin it into cloth and when his story's tapestry was made, it was for-stolen by the devils of that age.

 So it was that Storyspeak spent these ages crouched over the ground, awaiting the arrival of that which he had spoken.

 It was a long time coming, yet the Master is a patient one, and at last, one May morning when the moon first winked at the children of Earth after a dark period, they arose – the thirteen stones which stand still in a ring near his special place.

 It had been a long time, but that is Storyspeak for you. Here he was at the beginning and for certain as it was a new dawn in itself, he will be present there at the end.

 For he decided how it would be with that woven story tale.

 So there lo and behold, old story master for many a long age, crouched and waiting.

 When ALMIGHTY MAGICKS!

 The stones appear and he is sun be-dazzled.

 Didn't expect that!

 He looks up, and there 

 In the sky

 Is the mystic bird.

 PHAEDRON

 Flying from the Sun, arching through the stratosphere.

 Big light show!

 And just as soon, all over.

From his eyes to the ground

  Mmmmmmmmmma! 

More tears, his arms plead to the sky.

 Pobble crosses the ring and bends down before a stone.

 He stretches his hand forward and yes, he kisses the stone.

 So then, our stomachs respond to this missive of love and as if the ground spirals up to the sky, so we would appear to be joined with Pob in a merging swirling landscape. 

 This goes on for some time and it is a state difficult to describe, yet one that Pobble is getting used to.

 He has become one with the stones having awoken them with a kiss that speaks spells to the whole sky and earth.

 We wonder what magic is let loose.

 Pobble wonders sometimes where his body leaves off and where the world begins.

 He feels part of the Earth, he feels part of the Stones.

 That is why he has come here

 He wouldn't bother otherwise.

  00000000000000000000000000000

 So this swirling starts at the stones and twists the surrounding grass into a whirl, that we might forget it was grass at all!

 The twirling wicker-weaves us into shapes that are new to us, and far points of the landscape take on a kind of helix-cyclical meaning that could never have been imagined.

 From the one landscape there now seem to be several, all with interwoven threads or paths between them.

 As if, to OUR eyes, they all existed in the SAME space at once

            and between them were great vacuums or voids AS WELL, which had not appeared to be there in our nicely familiar land as before when we started.

  Pobble is full of vacuums and voids as well and seeing as he looks like he can handle it, let us take him as a help line in this place.

  Perhaps we had better dance -because Pobble is,

  and he seems to know what he is doing, now everything is whirling around so much.

  He beseeches the sky

  He speaks for the sea's foam

  He wails at the moon

  He stamps the earth

  As it returns to beneath our own feet.

  And the vacuums and voids suck into outer space.

  And the spiral galaxies that I forgot to mention disappear back up Pobbles sleeve.

  Only the grass is shimmering, and light purple.

   Shapes have returned to forms that we recognise'

  And Pobble holds in his hand a still glowing golden bowl.