The Colour of Time - Part 21 / Bon hiver, Bon hiver ...

 

'The colour of time is not Indigo. I would feel sorry for you if I could, little Dora,' the spirit said. 'They took my compassion away from me. I am being punished for getting too close to you, and most of all for taking a physical form and for leaving my post and my duty in the Temple.'

Dora swallowed so hard but could not get rid of the felt pebble that blocked her windpipe.

So I will never learn the secrets of the spring and well of forecast and how to use them, she thought, struggling with a whole bunch of mixed feelings at the same time.

'I am afraid, no,' the spirit's voice crowed as if he had read Dora's thoughts once more. 'My punishment will be to take a physical form forever and having to leave the Temple to live and end a natural and mortal life at a place far, far away from here where I will never ever see you again.'

The light in the sky had gotten brighter and was blinding Dora for a moment.

'The Powers that be are punishing you as well, Dora of Wye,' the voice continued having lost all of its thundering and tolling. 'You are banned from the Temple of the spring and well of forecast for good and will not be allowed to enter the city-walls of the City of Earth from now on.'

Dora had nothing to argue, to say nore to think. It was as if her brain had been frozen by the coldest ice.

'But look, there is still hope. You are on your right path and taking big leaps becoming a mighty and magnificent witch and sorceress. Keep on writing all of this in your growing book of knowledge and experiences. And even in the darkest moments like on days like this with the longest night of all seasons there will always be a light to ensure you that there will be brighter times. Even in the deepest winter there is always hope for spring. Bon hiver, little Dora, bon hiver.'

And within the rays of the blinding light Dora saw the spirit that for a short time was Flakemane, the snowlion, being transformed into a snow-white eagle that spread his wings and flew away into the cloudy sky.

Dora could not help but to sink on her knees on the stone paved path of the Temple, and she started crying.

Bromford woke up with the weight of a sack of a hundred pebbles on his chest. For a moment he felt an emotional connection to someone in a vague distance. But within the blink of an eye this feeling was gone.

'This Columbus is a strange city,' the llama said. 'The shepherdess at the inn said, it was named after a man who discovered it. But what was to discover here?'

'The world was flat and black and white before Columbus,' the bard said trying to synch the tones in his head.

"Bromford State Epileptic Colony"

They sit around tables rendered dumb
Coloured sticks of chalk are passed around
Today the doctors allow the illusion of choice
Tomorrow the necks split, there is no voice

Piggy
V.S.E.C
Cleaning cooking flower arranging
Dissolves a kind of liberation

Draw a perfect circle, sleep foetus-like
Six chalk colours, the very meaning of life
They wake to strobes and half circled light
confusion lifts with potassium percolate

V-S-E-C piggy
Piggy piggy
Piggy piggy
Cleaning cooking flower arranging
Dissolves a kind of liberation

Pig pig piggy.
V.S.E.C.
Cleaning cooking flower arranging.
Dissolves a kind of liberation.

Pig pig piggy.
V.S.E.C.
Cleaning cooking flower arranging.
Dissolves a kind of liberation.

Today is Sunday, the 21st of December 2025.
Fourth Sunday of Advent
Bon hiver, Bon hiver.

The Colour of Time - Part 20

 

'Yes, you have heard right, little Dora;' the voice of the guardian said as the sky above and around them took the colour Navy. 'We have to say good-bye. And everything that is happening is all my fault.'

Trained on her travels and journeys Dora could feel the powers of a magical spell that was going on in the rocks and the flowers and the grass and the trees and the waters under the columns and the vaulted ceiling of the Temple of the spring and well of forecast around her.

No Flakemane, no snowlion, no dragon-faced guardian spirit. All she could feel and more sense than see were traces and slight touches of lion's fur and feathered wings.

A feeling of loss tightened her throat. Suddenly she was overwhelmed by memories of things she had experienced and lived through with the snowlion, even of things and events she was sure never happened.

'Good-bye?' she asked into the wind-whistled silence. 'But I am not ready to say good-bye, now that I have reached the end of the blue period of my days. There is still so much I can learn from you. You never told me where I can find the raindeers, the deer that dwells in the rain. And I never found out what the colour of time is - La Couleur du Temps.'

'Babel, after the tower tumbled;' the llama remarked looking at the ruins of a city that was once the Capital of the realm until the false pride of men made them reach out for the skies. 'They have build and climbed and flown too high. Too close to the sun in the sky.'

'But those are only fairytales in books written by rabbits;' Bromford replied. 'Let's walk on, animal.'

"World Before Bromford"

If your love were taken from me
Every colour would be black and white
It would be as flat as the world before Bromford
That's the day that I lose half my sight

If your life were taken from me
All the trees would freeze in this cold ground
It would be as cruel as the world before Bromford
Sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they never will have you


And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

If your love were taken from me
Every light that's bright would soon go dim
It would be as dark as the world before Bromford
Down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they will never have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

Today is Saturday, the 20th of December 2025.

The Colour of Time - Part 19

 

This time Dora entered the Temple under a Sapphire sky, all quiet, only accompanied by a faint prolonged whistle of the wind. In her white dress and barefoot she looked up to a round, illuminated window in an ornate wall the Temple had formed on the and out of the horizon. The light in the window had a magical touch about it and was yet only a reflection of the everlasting light in the clear blue sky.

'Dora of Wye;' Dora heard the deep, familiar voice right next to her. 'You have returned, one last time.'

Flakemane had emerged from the rocks beside the stone paved path, but not in his lion-form. Once again he was the white dragon-like creature with his yellow eyes, the guardian spirit Dora had known since her childhood.

Did he say she had returned one last time?

'Standing here at the King's port always feels like good-bye,' the bard sighed, humming another song while he was looking out on the deserted river. In his head he saw the waters flowing downstream until this smaller river joined the great River of Why.

'Did we ever find out if this big realm of ours really had a king somewhere?' the llama wondered.

'Is there a kingdom without a king or a queen?' the bard asked. 'And who would call a town Kingsport if there wasn't a king, animal?'

'Let's follow the river downstream,' the llama suggested. 'I still have got the strongest feeling we have to be in the Capital City of Earth by the end of this Holiday season.'

"Bromford"

'Cause I know that time has numbered my days
And I'll go along with everything you say

But I'll ride home laughing, look at me now
The walls of my town, they come crumbling down

And my ears hear the call of my unborn sons
And I know their choices colour all I've done

But I'll explain it all to the watchman's son
I ain't ever lived a year better spent in love

'Cause I'll know my weakness, know my voice
And I'll believe in grace and choice
And I know perhaps my heart is farce
But I'll be born without a mask

Like the city that nurtured my greed and my pride
I stretched my arms into the sky


I cry Bromford! Bromford! Look at me now
Then the walls of my town, they come crumbling down

You ask where will we stand in the winds that will howl
As all we see will slip into the cloud

So come down from your mountain and stand where we've been
You know our breath is weak and our body thin

Press my nose up, to the glass around your heart
I should've known I was weaker from the start
You'll build your walls and I will play my bloody part
To tear, tear them down
Well I'm gonna tear, tear them down

'Cause I know my weakness, know my voice
And I'll believe in grace and choice
And I know perhaps my heart is farce
But I'll be born without a mask

Today is Friday, the 19th of December 2025.