She sang, of dancing shadows through the tori gate, of the moonlight, dappled on the forest floor. The moss grew thick on boulders, once worshipped as the homes of the gods – now long forgotten amongst soft-leaved gingko and scattered pine needles.
She sang of peace within the forest’s heart, of enticing revelations and meditating monks, desperate for enlightenment. Of her ancestor’s supplicating tread and chance encounters as daily ablutions were performed in the murky half-light.
She sang, her voice carrying the echoes of a millennium of birdsong and crickets’ calls, grieving for those lost opportunities to find peace, to savour solitude.
She sang, but we had already forgotten.
Good Morning! We’re going to the beach today, to welcome the first few days of both summer and the school holidays. My girls are tugging at my sleeve, insisting we depart. This story was written using the Friday Fictioneers’ photo prompt, this week by Sandra Crook. I also used the 3WordWednesday prompts, Chance, Entice and Savour. Comments and criticism welcome, as always!