Poem of The Hot Wind - Twilight Summer

The longest day
The shortest night
The night seems to be
So much shorter now
But the reality of it all is
It does stretch on forever
We’re always
Close to the night

From Winter NIght by Amos Keppler 331. night 12051
The first year in the time of The Crimson Tide

Midsummer Night

The shortest night goes on forever. Twilight Summer is true. Land of reality bid us welcome. Shaman dance is light, with a sharp edge of crimson in its twists and turns. The seekers, the nomads, the outcasts from many tribes meet around the circle table.

Swords are drawn. Blood is drawn from the edge of the sword. Cups not golden at all, are lifteth to hungry mouths and drinketh is the Water of Life, Blood of the Gods. Seconds tick away and then, first as faint thunder before the raging storm, we hear it. The heartbeat of the gods. We listen... and hear our own heartbeat. We watch and we look. And see the aura around our bodies stretch and dance.

We look at us from outside and thus everything is changed.

To more life