The Other Dale

One day I stood upon a hill. Its red earth was dotted with green tufts of grass and adorned with gray, rounded stones. The side I climbed up sloped towards the south and to things forgotten. West of the hill the sun swung itself loose from the world's end and cut an arch through a velvet sky. In the East, the land was draped in black. At the top, where I stood, was one solemn tree.

Its roots, long and thick, sunk deep into the recesses of the hill. Those twisted tendrils knotted and melded until they met in the form of a wide trunk. This rotting base was cracked with age and one might wonder how much longer the weighty top could rest upon such decrepit shoulders. The upper portion of the tree was built in stark contrast to its ugly, lower region. Enormous branches, white as midday clouds and smoother than sculpted ice, soared out at every angle. Delicate leaves swathed in fiery orange danced upon them and at the tips blossomed blood red flowers made up of thin, pointy petals. From the large and heavy branches sprang ever smaller twigs (which in turn sprouted into new twigs) that twisted around each other forming white-gilded knots that shone like ebony.

My eyes, enraptured by the spiraling chaos of the branches, leaves, and flowers, were led (almost against their will) to a point above the tree's top. In the sky there was a yellow glow that pulsed out from a winged creature. It floated there in space, not much larger than a human baby, and looked not into my eyes, but at my chest as if it sought to see the depths of my heart. Two wings the color of amber sprouted from its back and two more were covering its feet. Another set of wings sprang from its ears and covered the entire front of the being's heavenly body. The effect was like looking at a head that peered out of a golden, feather covered egg. It appeared to be bald, but I can never know for certain because a purple cap sat flat upon the entire forehead.

As I stared at the angel (for this word is the only one I know which can adequately describe the being) its mouth opened and it began to sing. Music resonated across the mound. It brought to my mind the melancholy of a midwinter snow; I was overcome with the steady peace given by a morning shower; even the joviality rendered by a summer sunset pierced my soul. There were no words (in fact, there may have been no noise at all). Instead, the song and voice were inside me. I was filled to overflowing by their beauty, and from my pores a mist the color of Spring flowed.

Then, I opened my mouth so as to sing this song for the world to hear. It was by no action of my own that I did this, but I was being guided by law. From inside a note was beckoned and just as it was called to my lips...it died.

The angel spread its wings (they measured at least thrice its body's size), and, never taking its gaze off me, flew away from the hill and into the darkened east. My heart grew faint, and my body grew dim. The mist died away and inside I was an empty water flask; built for a purpose and unable to fulfill it. The hope that had been so real only moments earlier was erased, and all I was left with was hands groping in thin air.

Then I saw the tree.

Its dead trunk was no longer only brown, but black as coal. Not only that, but its sick look was no longer relegated to the tree's bottom. It was traveling like a disease, upwards into the heart of the tree. White polished bark began to peel and die, curling into thick rotted strips. Branches, that had moments ago seemed so majestic and eternal, were cracking under their own weight and fell to ground shattering upon impact. The golden leaves and crimson flowers twisted and stretched until they too were destroyed. At one single moment, they all caught fire and burst into gray ash.

My heart collapsed as I saw this wondrous creature die. Its perishing was instantaneous, but it was long enough to deserve a history all its own. I looked down upon the smoking rubble, and my heart yearned to see it renewed. In me burnt a new fire; it was not the same which destroyed the innocent tree and the timeless song of the angel. Instead, it was a cleansing fire. Hot and white with a purpose that rivaled that of the sun. I looked westward and perceived that great dweller of the dawn only to see that its course had shifted. Instead of traveling up, the great fiery ball was sinking back into the cold earth.

After all I'd lost, I should have wailed in pain at such a sight. The last light of the world was drawing back into itself. I would be left alone on the cliff, shivering in the cold night. Somehow, I did not give in to this thought. There was another light; the one that grew inside of me. It would never leave me wanting.

At that moment, the sun was only a thin strip on the Western horizon. A second later, and it was gone. All was silent. The hill had been wrapped in a blanket the color of black slate. I looked in all directions at the eternal figure of night. It did not stop, but chose to go on into forever. But, I remembered that night is only dark because there is no light. I was not afraid.

I looked down to where I imagined the tree had been and was perplexed to see a faint, glimmering object. It shimmered with a nature that was not unlike a small sun. I reached down and easily scooped the light into the palm of my hand. It was soft and round. I saw that it was shaped like a globe and from its recesses the light shone. The emanation was small, but it drove away all doubts and fears. Courage and renewed hope shot through my veins. I laughed. The ball was a seed.