Quimer

The mist ravaged the tall treetops. With it carried the distant prayers of the friars isolated among the rocks, who knelt before God every day. And, in the stillness, echoes of tragedies. Of frenzied jealousy. The moribund voice of a stabbed brother, and the tearing of murderous flesh. Deep valleys and flat clearings. What remained of the calamity and pestilence impregnated in the stone he trod upon. Brothers in God, brothers in death. Stones erected in a circle. Overwhelmed by the mist that dissipated with the return of the sun, eternal. Dedicated to Sintra, forever part of my soul.