As the Earth Cries

The trembles and moans reach the mist and the wind as they hear pain as sound.  They are not alone in hearing, for all creatures, the trees, even the waters in all their depths can hear it. 
They hear that the earth cries.
Now a keening wail; an aching deep within the belly so guttural that it cannot bear to keep silent.  Now one of shuddering horror; of monsters seeking, lurking, soaking up their gains as painful etches into skin.  Now another of moaning; of lingering in unfulfillment that has lasted so long, fear takes over and says ‘you will never be made whole.’
Oh, there is no doubt in the mind of the mist and the wind and the creatures and the waters why it is the earth cries.
It is the cry that mourns a final death—and they have long known its coming.
And then a soft, surprised cry.
What has the earth seen, the mist and the wind and the creatures and the waters wonder.  Why has the earth changed its mournful tune?
They peak behind their self-made curtains, the wind and mist and all—thus they know what it is the earth has seen.  A glimmering, darting glittering thing that ebbs and flows with the earth in its time, and brings as much glad tidings of new life as it does the glorious rising that stems from death’s decay.  An ultimate giver; a bringer of hope.
The earth sighs.
It is an old beginning.

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