Surrendering

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

-Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909),
When the Hounds of Spring
Are on Winter's Traces

Days became hands and hands became months. Time was passing us by. If there were any real need of evidence that this was true, one had only to look at the world around us. The warmth of the central fire and the gentle fall of rains had created green as far as the eye could see. It was hard to keep a firm grasp on anything but the beauty as the plains surrendered to the new season without effort.

I finally decided to plunder through a chest or two from the dwellers wagons. Strange how the materialistic nature of my father no longer touched me in any way. Nothing within the stores held much interest to me now until I came across a wooden salt mill. That was when Aiyana and Polunu came to mind. I missed her. I missed our moments of whimsy and my tangling pillage of her yarn baskets. Leaving the clutter without another thought I grasped the mill and a basket of eggs. I'd decided to go for a visit.

I'll admit I was somewhat disappointed not to catch a glimpse of the weaver but it was good to see the salt hunter and the girl blue with him. We spent a few ehn talking of how they had been and of course new promises to keep in touch. The warrior insisted that they were happy together and that was all that mattered.

I left with an odd contentment, beginning to sing one of those airy tunes that I'd long ago forgotten. Like the grasses of the plains, I think I was surrendering to simply enjoying the life I lived.