Here, we weave a web of tales.
A web sewn together stitch by stitch with particles left behind in the remnants of our distant thoughts.
This web we sew grows larger each day, and when the sun rises the early morning dew finds a way to surround our web with the most beautiful shimmering lights, that flicker with dastardly movement.
The dew then falls from the web down to the earth, where is settles into the soft grains of the soils that surround it.
drip.
drip.
drip.
the sound echos throughout the grotto. The dew the begins to spatter the walls and the earth so marvelously and with such chaos that it begins to wake the birds that roost in the oak trees by the lake. The birds hear the grotto's call, and instantly flock to it's mouth.
One
by
One
they feed the cave. Each placing a grain to the side of the grotto.
...
this is the moment where the magic begins.
Suddenly, the grotto comes alive, and swallows each and every grain placed before it.
The grains then fall
...Down, into the Grotto.
where they place root beneath the soil surrounding them. The grains are then made fertile by the dew that has been formed on the web of tales we weave, and slowly grow to take the form of many
sweet,
savory,
onions.
We then eat this onions together. tasting it's juices carefully as to not miss any of it's rich essence.
This is the product of our labor. We have worked to produce a beautiful, living thing, and it will hopefully one day bring joy to others. However, a garden needs gardeners my friends. Let us continue to weave our ever expanding web until each of us has exhausted their source.
Which, in my opinion, is impossible.
Simba.
