A storyteller

I stand alone, under the full winter moon, and gaze at it. The wolf's soul sleeping deep inside my human soul wakes up and watches with an unspeakable longing. I want to howl.
A weaver I am of stories, untold and long forgotten ones. A keeper of legends and myths , born of the truths absolute and so old. I gather moonbeams and sunshines, in the plains, the forest, the farms, the markets , the seas, the shores and everywhere. And put them on the loom of my imaginations and feelings, to weave a gossamer of your sweat and labour. Spun to fill the silence of this universe with the music of humanity, your joys and sorrows..
i paint tales of friendships, sacrifice and betrayals. Lands and fables where even beasts are brothers and trees whisper songs unsung ever from a mortal lip in the ears of air. To carry unto eons and generations the dance of life in all its majesty and cruelty alike.
Aye my friend! I sow my heart in the fields of your hearts and lives and reap the dreams, happy and dark alike. I prepare a flour of words, spoken, unspoken and unheard. Sift them and with waters of your tears and laughter knead them. To finally make a bread of a poem or a story that feeds the sap of your existences. and nourishes your soul to give the nature its due for everything you owe to her.
Come , sit here on this rock and let me tell you of a land where fairies played with butterflies.