A Celestial Faith

The sky was white.
Its blue had melted away.
The mountains bathed in blue, akin at times to the inky indigo, at others, to the pale, liquid oxygen.
Concentric circles of paraffin formed on the exterior of the mountains, with pillars made of wicks and mosaics made of silvered glass.
The mirrors glint. Light. The concentric circles melt. Heat. Together they are Fire. There’s a Chill too. Fire and Chill, a fiery chill, that renders the world inhabitable.
Lands that seek oasis, sands blowing around listlessly in dust clouds.
Lands that seek oasis, while humans walk around haunted by spirits.

Spirits that speak of fear and shame,
Of lost causes and of efforts that go in vain.

The woman, with a creeper in her hands and a glass jar, strides away from the conflicting elements.
The glass jar contains one of each- a bird, a bee, a stone implement, and an earthworm. Only one of each.

Alone, they set out. None understands the other, yet feels. Each unique by its singleness, yet an embodiment of the best/ last hope by their oneness. They set forth to remake the world with: infinitesimal amounts of heat, light, and cold. A sliver of land too, and just a speck of water.

An ethereal, celestial faith.

For in the fiery chill and loneliness, the journey itself beckoned toward the path of belonging.