Lazy, dark, and gloomy, the water rose steadily from the drains. It swallowed slowly the snaking trenches of pavement that strangled the good earth. Its oil-slick surface shone with rainbows in the diffused light of the overcast day, little tin boats sending wild swirls through the mesmerizing multitude of colors.
Up the waters rose, swaying gently, carried by the whispered song of the gentle breeze. It brought into itself things with sharp edges, hard and tasting bitterly of blood and black slick. The rainbows grew. The tin boats were joined by things of hardened oil, clear and light and bobbing gently on the softly dancing surface of that consuming water.
Up the waters rose, rushing now and then over ledges as it overtook them so as to hum along with the melody of the sky’s dear child, and that lovely breeze delighted. The wind began to sing louder, faster, carrying the water into a more vigorous dance. Now it truly sang along; up it continued to rise.
Up and up the waters rose and danced and sang, and the pillars beside those choking trenches wore away, pieces of themselves joining the reverie. The shells of those hollow things thinned, and in some places vanished, so as to allow the waters to fill the pillars with its immense joy at the wind’s great song. Segmented and connected by wide arteries and narrow tubeish veins, the water rushed in gladly, and the pillars welcomed it.
The water swirled with plastic jellyfish and bulbous bloated fish of that same bitter oil. Thin slices of the water’s tree siblings dissolved into it, and shining things of glass and stone refracted further the light which pirouetted through the swirling rush. Organic things were similarly swallowed and pulled into their own waltzing choreography under the choppy waves.
Clouds of hair, long like the grasses and anemone that decorated the coral reefs that brought so much beauty to Her mother Sea, marked the places where the new arrivals, carried in her great rush, might find food to sustain them while they attained their new great rhythm in this fresh home. The food was bitter, and some would not eat of it, but those who did would themselves be food for those who did not, so none needed to starve in this new place.
The dance crescendoed, slowed, and died down into nought but a gentle swaying. The wind’s song became a gentle hum, and occasional whistle, and the new residents set about finding their place in this strange reef of poison and bitter things. Nothing could be more beautiful, nothing was so ugly. Caught in the dance, they had moved from where they were before to here, and perhaps that was not best for them. But this place was theirs now, and they hadn’t need to consider it too much. There were niches aplenty in which to hide from that with sharp teeth and strong jaws, and for the things with those teeth and jaws to be hidden themselves. There were open spaces. There were things to eat and spaces to explore. And that was enough.
Discontent melted away.
And they danced. Hummed, swayed, gentle and constant and good.
Above the glassy sea flew things of feathers and scaled feet and talons. Some swooped down to scoop up with the residents of the below place in their beaks, others perched upon the things which emerged from Her surface and chittered about in their own chipper songs. Green things sprouted here and there, and fed those which did not eat of their feathered brethren or the scaled creatures which breathed the sea.
It was good.
All, was good.