Clouds, cloud and clouds go. A seedling planted is nurtured
and adored, abruptly grows into something special and just so full, while the
gardener is day dreaming still. The image of a newly sprouted fern warps and
flickers in the wind, hiding in its illusionary inverted shadow, the young tree
that it is now. Young and with a thousand more leaves it now bears. The hopeful
eyes flicker and gaze upon the epilogue that their thoughts spawned. Only it is
not an epilogue, but rather the beginning of a desirable dream, they realize.
The milestone doesn’t seem all that satisfying now that it is the one staring
at their backs, they realize. And they realize that when they next look back,
they want to see the shadow of an emerald behemoth with more leaves than they
could successfully count without tiring and giving a rueful chuckle.
“It is much like the crumples and
folds in linen,” the old cliché hermit with all the worldly wisdom and no hair
on his crown but brilliantly white bushy eyebrows would say, “the more there
are, the worn the cloth is.”
This however is no declaration of victory,
nor is it a war-cry from us Acumen. This is what your beloved Acumen must
conjure should certain criteria are sated. No blood for the blood God
of-course. Hear, hear!
“We The Acumen are forever
truly grateful for the drop of interest you invariably bored ladies and gents
invested in us in your moment of extended respite and by your ‘leave’ are we inclined
to thereby express our drops of appreciation.
*SPLASH!!*
*SPLASH!!*
Bak-at-chu! Ahem.
Thank you, and if the dripping storm deities do so ask of you, keep viewing!”
- The Acumen of the Aurora
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