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Rated: E · Fiction · Philosophy · #2096496
The REAL beginning...
He walked across the busy street with his collars up and head down in quiet contemplation.

At one point the trees seemed to gently depart to either side revealing an expanse of vividly lit night sky.

He looked for the moon as he walked, but failed. It was hidden by trees and more trees.

Suddenly there was ruffling of leaves—someone was watching him up from those trees, it seemed.

He saw himself walking down the street in the eyes of a bird perched high up—a silhouette of leaves adorned the edges of his vision —but he was a bird with no trace of a body. The bird looked up and saw the moon, as brilliant as ever.

He continued walking ahead—well, he might as well have been walking on the surface of Mars—for the bird saw only things that truly mattered to him.

When he was the bird, distractions dissolved, judgements vanished, and everything trivial burnt to ashes—leaving only the path in front of him.

He thanked the bird and took the path.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2096496