destiny is calling me

[tsubame]

Emrys’ favorite season is winter. You might find him in the middle of a field after the first snow, standing a bare quarter-inch above the snow, dressed in sober slate blue and grey with his hair down around his shoulders like a cloak of ice. His calm is akin to the calm of winter-- blank, empty, unhurried, waiting. If you ask him why he likes winter, he would tell you that it is beautiful, cold and perfect. Much like he is, though he would not say that. But it is not just for that that he loves winter. He loves the purity of it, the simplicity. Winter offers no false promises, no illusions, no deceptions and no apologies. There is no confusion of voices, no hectic competition, no frantic struggle. The quiet of winter is the quiet of a sleeping world, one detached from the degradations of life and living. When winter sleeps, it does not dream. There is only the sparse bones of the earth lying close to the surface, still, frozen, peacefully at rest.

Nghia enjoys all of the seasons, but he is a summer child at heart, born to stand tall beneath the sun. He loves the light of an open sky, the hot wind through his hair, the heat that glazes his skin. The day is long and golden, and he revels in it, in the land basking contented in its growth. He is a part of that, like to the dark coppery earth preparing itself for the harvest, his hair and his eyes as dark as the shadows at noon. His is the strength that knows itself, knows itself and waits. Nghia himself is the summer, restless and careless and brave and quiet and lethargic by turns. Summer is clothed in velvet growth, it is fulfillment, completion. Summer knows its power, tried and true. Summer also sleeps, but it is a sleep full of dreams and visions, the prophecy of days to come.

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