the seeping wound of the sun bled across the beginning of the world, thick and golden like honey. once it began, it did not stop. it bled, and bled, flooding and filling every available place, choking out all shadow in its warming glow until it were nearly eradicated, until nearly none were left in those dark and soft places that were not kissed by Light.
woodsy lived in the place where the sun rose first, it felt like. high up in the mountains where the weather was different, colder, clearer. the stars were closer to her; she'd often thought that if she could just manage flight, she could step across them like a stone pathway through a garden, that heavenly garden. lying on her back in the clover, now, she could see them going away, disappearing in the sunlight that drowned them out in her own brightness. as the light grew, it became too bright for her direct vision, and the alicorn would roll onto her side in the greenery, stocky body wrapped curled in the wildflowers like a sleeping newborn.
the flowers here erupt from the ground as though they intend to sprout legs and walk away. the desire seems to emanate from their straight-backed stalks and sky-seeking petals, the way their leaves seem to reach, reach, reach, like a little one feeling around on top of a countertop for a cookie, or for Mama's coffee to tip over. when woodsy lies down, she always picks her spot carefully, to avoid crushing or trodding over them. indeed, every foray into a wildflower field is performed this way, with careful ungulate steps, her horse's legs carrying her as carefully as possible as to not offend any little flowers. they made her happy, so why should she trounce all over them in a sloppy way? they whispered when the wind blew. not the way the trees did, the trees crashed against the invisible wind with an incredible sound like the ocean. the flowers bent and waved and whispered and gave homes to the bees and the fieldmice and all the little bugs. when she wanted to be among all of them, she'd find a good clear spot like this, and lie down, and let the sun kiss her cheeks the way it kissed theirs.
she sometimes deeply wished she could photosynthesize. instead, she ran off of tea and dreams.
