Quests & Challenges

[i]A sleek cornflower Skydancer with empty electric blue eyes approached with hasty steps, a still half unrolled scroll in toe. "Apologies if I'm a tad late, I do not have much time to spare for festivities I'm here for work by request of my Collective. However I think I have enough time to spare to give a poem, Its more about the emotions I felt than describing events I hope that's okay."[/i] ------- Heyla @Paintminion @Sinjin @awsten @eyayah - I'm ready to turn in my entry! [b]FR Name:[/b] CreationDragon [b]ID#:[/b] 692992 [b]Prompt:[/b] Windy Air Market [b]Story or Poem?:[/b] Poem [b]Wordcount:[/b] 332 [b]Dragon Author:[/b] [i][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/92035132][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/920352/92035132_350.png[/img][/url][/i] Henna, Scribe from the Chronicle of the Stars. [b]Entry Title:[/b] Clouded Skies [i]From thunder and storms, home within shadow and shade. Far from work, chronicle and strife, The air fills one's wings with the sweet scent of a cut grass blade. A serenity that could fill anyone with peace for life. Translucent feathers reflect a rainbow colored cascade. Here a moment to breathe, to see, to feel, A moment away from the papers, the quills, without an expectation. Amongst the reeds, within the energy, a moment in the wind one could steal. Capture, study, and even then, never able to grasp it, or see the correlation. Or perhaps it's a causation, the wind calling one to the sky to use the air as a way to heal. No matter the familiarity in the commotion, or the beauty in the banners and light. Still remains an unfamiliar melody in the calm whispers of the wind, The clicking of bamboo, something long buried in songs of storms and endless night. The magic imprint of generations spent amongst the clouds and whirlwind. Kindred spirits and minds alike, to find comfort in the ruffles of feathers in flight. A wish this moment could never end, to be able to forget the secrets left to reveal. Yet every dance must come to an end, and some things don't have to end in a revelation. Between the commotion, the grandeur, where spectacle and energy congeal, Moments of calm and rest, where nothing else could matter, a moment of resignation. Then it's time to return to the scrolls, work, to make logic of magic and the surreal. One would rather a moment under clouded skies, where memories are made, A moment dancing in the wind, alongside kites without strife. The smells of sweet grass, and the chimes of the wind, in a parade. Though when it all ends, it's time to return to one's life, The endless drone of work, studies, between what little peace remained. Perhaps the greatest gift a windswept sky could give, is this feeling for this moment. [/i]