The Singing City

See the mighty river. Wide. Swift. Majestic. Unrelenting in its quest for the sea. Look further to its twin. Just as wide. Just as swift. Just as majestic. Just as relentless. Notice how the twins meet. Intertwining. Caressing. Melding. Two become one. The marriage of two separate births into a raging serpent of wet and bubbles as wide as the eye can see. Notice how the island climbs out of the place where the two rivers meet. Defying the strength of the current. Forcing the newly combined twins to separate once again.  Listen how the island sings. Employing the rush of water through the holes in the legs of the island to give it a voice. A voice of one with a long memory.

Memories. Crisp and clear at the center and fuzzy around the edges. Memory of a city. White. Brilliant. Vibrant. Memories of how it was the last of many. Created as a fortress. As a city. The people within have short memories. They did not recognize the fortress for it had not served that purpose for many memories past. Forged to protect, to defend, to shelter, to prosper. Created beautiful and functional. The builders married the Fortress to natural rock. Strength. Power. Endurance. Smell the trees. Flowering underbrush. Lush rings surrounding the city. Roads and staircases enticed out of the living rock, curving at gentle slopes. Reaching for the fortress entrance. Reaching it. All the while the island hugs the city. Embraces it. Sings to it.

Listen how the birds try to copy the island song. Always responding. Never understanding. Twitting. Twerting. Warbling. No communication takes place. Watch the trees trembling in the wind. Voicing their song. Swishing. Swashing. Whispering. The island does not hear. Dance with the people. Swaying to tune of the island song. Perfect step. Perfect time. Perfect rhythm. They hear not the song of the island. They feel it. Are one with it. Embrace it.

Behold the city. Imagine the bones. Magnificent oak logs. Stacked just so. Sewn together. Bones from the mainland. A heritage transferred. Created anew. Unrecognizable. Melded strength. Hidden power. Power against the elements. Power for the defenders and power against the invaders. See the skin. Glorious skin. Bright. Shining. Once blinding. White and polished. Mined from mother earth. Smooth. Marbled. Unbreakable. Woven together over the bones into an impenetrable tapestry, telling a story of newness and hope and strength. Veins flowing with people. Giving their life blood. The energy of anticipation. Feel the pulse. Coming and going. To and fro. In and out. Back and forth.  Armed with mirrors to blind the enemy. Power of the noonday sun and polished skin.

People love the Fortress. Need it. Love it. Care for it. Rely on it. Without it the people are lost. Homeless. Helpless. Without it the island is quiet. Empty. Unimportant. With it the island is vibrant. The island is bustling. The island is home. The island sings.

Surrounding the island, the river rolls. Caresses.  Lulls. Carrying thoughts of mountain streams. Cool. Clean. Alive. Enroute to the sea. The destination. The death of the river. Giving life to the sea. A transition. Carrying life from high to low.  The river carries the low rumble of the earth. Too low to hear. Too low to feel. Carries the rumble past the island. A counterpoint. A harmony. A compliment to the song of the island.

Fleets of bones carried by the twins. Amassing. Building. Throbbing. Feel the power. Feel the energy. Feel the bones rattle. See the approaching enemy. Prepare for war. Prepare for death. Prepare for the worst. Expect the best. Expect the victory. Expect the bones to break. Anticipate the movements. Anticipate the flow of the water. Anticipate the steadfastness. All the while the island sings.

Shouts of men. Cries of women. Confusion of children. Lament of the old. Crashing. Rolling. Whine of arrows. Splinters of boulders. Splinters of bones. Intent to kill. Intent to live. Intent to make a change. Alive. Alive. The fortress is alive. Function fulfilled. Purpose revealed. Battle rages. The island song swells to a crescendo. Defenders victorious. Foes vanquished. Such was the life of the fortress. A memory long gone.

Once a defender. Skin fades over time. No longer polished. Mirrors repurposed. Life still teems. No longer a fortress. Foes fled long ago. Island still sings. Listen to the peace. Families. Trade. Joy. Attention turns from factions to functions. Not bright, but clean. Not shouts of victory, but rings of laughter. Not a trade of blows, but a trade of goods. Life continues to pulse. Strong and pure. Children growing to elders. Elders passing to legend. Life continues to flow. And still the island sings.

Hear the people laugh. People play. People relax. Enjoy the city. Enjoy the song the island sings. Harmony between people and city. Harmony between people and island. Harmony between city and island. No adversity. No cares.

No growth.

A lapse in the watch. A lapse in the care. A lapse in judgment. Lost is the need for protection. Lost is the need for community. Lost is the need for help. Lost is the reliance on one another. See the people reverting. Collapsing. Inverting. Not listening. Not feeling.

Peace brings increase. More people. More trade. More money. More bones from the mainland. People build. Not inside the city walls. Outside. Piles of bones. No skin. Just bones. They live. They laugh. They work. They play. No longer a need. No longer a love. No longer a care. They lose the song. The song is lost. The song is silent.

A new memory. A memory to come. A memory yet to be. A memory of a new age. An age where the island sings an old song. A song brought by the twin rivers. A song of dependence. A song of rebirth. A song of a new age. A song the people will hear. A song to move to. A song to feel. Hope. A new memory of hope to come. Invigored. The island sings once more.