“Is it too much, my love?”
“No, it is beautiful,” she said, “although I cannot gaze too long at the splendor.”
“You know that I am coming for you?”
“Does he know?” he asked.
“He knows. Even now, his soldiers retreat. The battles are everywhere fierce.”
|Is it too much?|
“He will die.”
“No,” she said. “He will not die.”
“He will if I have anything to say about it.”
“And what of me?” she demanded. “and what I have to say about it?”
“You have eaten the pomegranate, then?”
“Yes. And I relished it.”
I heard this said over the water as I squinted my eyes, trying to shield them with my hands. Persephone had a dream, and I overheard the dream. The Wheel of the Year has turned once more. Another revolution gone almost full circle. Again. It needs only the tide of the Ancient Ones now to make it complete. Look to the night skies for the burgeoning moon not quite at her zenith. There you will find the new Wheel.
The ocean sparkled like a million diamonds. The gulls flew by, trumpeting as they went. There is change in the air.
[You can read the full story of Persephone, starting here: Come Back to Me, with the last story (and all the links) here: The Pomegranate.]