There is a deliberateness in the winds of the universe. It is not a spiritual truth but a passing speculation. It's ok if you don't believe me. I have spent years devising ways to not believe me. But listen, ghost of the world, my story is not how it should be or at least not how I thought it should sway. So many hate what I bring; more than a crowd have bled themselves to extinguish my inner fire. They did not quit succeed. I am not so concerned with that. What I am concerned with is objectivity. If I run away now I would brake an oath to myself and my honor hangs in the balance and that is not a sacrifice I will allow. Ghost of the world, I want to tell you a story. It is one that might be sad and it is one that is filled with scenery. Like a grove. Imagine a grove, the grass, fine and waving in the soft breeze. Emerald and glistening because it is morning. Now imagine to the left, facing the horizon, where the lawn falls out of view, there are leaning bushes and beneath its leaves are thick roots of vines that have twisted, caressed and gripped the tops of the bushes. Just behind that growth (if you are as small as I am you would have to strain to look) are flowers. Large flowers with large petals. The ones you could see are blue, but there are many different kinds. I have seen gardens like these many times. I used to dream about them.
The garden would be in the back of a house that I would live in or in the middle of court yard where a group of scholars where gathered. Then there was the garden inside of huge mansion that I and every good soul I have every known resided in. That was my favorite by far. I wonder sometimes if one of you ghosts should be one of them. But the story. There was a girl. She loved adventure more than anything. She would look longing and the mountains that where well beyond that sacred garden we were just discussing. Yes, she was very ambitious. She stayed in the house that was next to the garden. It was wooden and large, but very comfortable. She woke underneath a window sleeping on a blue pillow, one of many scattered around the house. The gold of the morning was soon fading into pale and brilliant noon when she made her way down to the lawn behind the house.
She was cared for by a guardian he was a man of great patients and spoke only after great thought. He loved her and worried whenever she strayed from the home, lawn and garden. She never meant to, but sometimes something would catch her eye. There was a great wood behind the garden that was behind the house. It had shadows that shifted and swam with the day and grew immense during the night and every now and then she swore she saw something in between the trunks and amongst the green that she never saw before. Her heart would grow as light and as fast as the wind and her feet would have to move as quickly to keep up. Then she would find herself someplace magical. It was magical because the sun would look into the moving water of a stream and instead of it glancing back as a boring circle it would shimmer in a million pieces right before her in the stream. Cobwebs would drape across a log framing the mouth of the stream as though presenting a god and drifting leaves would put on shadow plays until dusk. In these places she could hear animals beckon to each other. They were not just talking; it was and ancient hymn that came from them, one that she longed to understand. She would stay for awhile in these places and longed to go further to see if she could see any other magic, but she knew that her guardian would worry so she would return to the wooden house and spread some more pillows around.
Her name was Elizah and she loved everything she saw.
