Resurrection

© 2011 by Duane Kirby Jensen

Note: Text in sketch is rough. The content below shows revision and my be revised again once moving to the painting stage.

Secure, away from the city of man, the Bold One slowly pieced together the fallen. In some he could hear the soft murmurs of hibernating thought. Diligently he built them whole, or as whole as he could. Some would be maimed, some would carry scares, and each would bear the burden of their ordeal, but if they could be sound of mind again, then they would have a future worth living for. As long as one can dream, there can be no boundaries.

There was no reason to rush. He had a good survey of the land and pursuit did not trail him. Nothing moved except dust upon the wind. What was important now was giving each of his kinfolk a chance to dream again. To have some sense of mobility. Any further delay and a second chance of becoming a sentient being again might bu futile.

Even with the burden he bore, be loved it out here. The endless expanse. The sloping hills fast in decay. He marveled at the erosion, the simply beauty of exposed rock and wind cared shapes. He tried to envision the land as it might have been five hundred years before. Or even a thousand. Was it once covered with windswept grass, sprinkled by ponds and lakes. Was this land once inhabited by anyone other then outcasts. These pondering are were the land took his mind, even as his fingers, growing more nimble by the day, continued to male whole his compatriots.