The Colour of Time - Part 8

 

A few years later Rascal, the dog, had run away, her grandfather - her father's father - had passed away and her grandmother had fallen ill.

And still Dora and her parents had returned to the City of Earth for the Holiday season.

Again she found a way into the Temple. It was not always through the city wall at the embankment by the river like the first time she got in. This time the entrance was through a well near a tavern in the center of the city.

The guardian spirit came very close this time. Still white like the clouds, with yellow eyes and big paws but also something that seemed like a pair of wings, he looked a little like a dragon, a dog or a lion.

Dora looked around. The Temple seemed to have changed every time she visited it. She was still standing in a little canyon with white rocks and grass and trees and flowers and under the arched temple-roof at the same time. But there were also mountains, a river or a lake, waterfalls and towers in front of her.

'Yes, little Dora,' the friendly voice of the guardian said accompanied by a rumbling laughter, 'take a look around. Take in the magic of the Temple of the spring and well of forecast.'

'Are those towers by the river the future I see?' Dora asked. 'Am I looking at the well of forecast?'

'Not yet, little Dora,' the guardian said. 'It takes more education and experience to look into the future. As I said, you are not ready yet. You still have more roads to walk, more travels to make. And maybe one day you will be able to see the secrets of this Temple.'

And after they agreed the colour of time was not Apricot Dora had to leave again.

'What is happening to us?' KussKuss, the llama, asked. 'This place looks strangely familiar. Or at least that city gate does.'

'But we have never seen it from inside the city, llama,' said Bromford, the bard. 'This is the City of Earth, the capital and most magnificent city of our home kingdom.'

'But we have never made it past that guard at the gate, do you not remember? He made us take the long way all around the city walls to get to Dora of Wye - the mighty and magnificent witch and sorceress - and her barrel by the banks of the River Why.'

But the bard did not answer but started humming a new song.

"Bromford Valley"

Famously unknown
Elusive and dismantled
Our colours form the truth behind
All the world, the darkest glass

I don't need it, I don't fear it
I don't need it, I don't fear it

Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley
Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley

Simply unconstructed
The shattered portrait's frame
I feel the words and company names
Of his attempts at empty fame

I don't need it, I don't fear it
I don't need it, I don't fear it

Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley
Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley

I don't need it, I don't fear it
I don't need it, I don't fear it

Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley
Long Island blues in Bromford Valley
In Bromford Valley

Today is Monday, the 8th of December 2025.