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It was north along the lake’s edge I most liked to walk. There, the path
wound, climbing to an embankment. There, I could stop and look back
and see the wharves of the harbours. See the ships with their sails
unfurled. Some would be out on the lake’s surface, heading for Chriniu’s
farther shore. Some would be entering the harbours, having sailed from
other cities. There was elegance and reassurance in the endless arrival
and departure of ships.
Sail and sun drive the ships of Chriniu. They are equipped to harness
the power of our star. They use this power to drive them forward if the
wind is low. Yet when weather permits they unfurl their sails. There is
skill and knowing in working with the wind: in ascertaining the moods of
the lake’s waters.
Along that pathway I could see the rail lines. They run to the cities
inland. Cities domed, as our city, Eratreün, is. The trains glide north or
west, moving quickly and silently away. And behind the lines are the
rising hills, dark and forested and so often sun-lit.
I walked this autumn day. In the ninth month; the month we call the
month of the Red Star. The weather has grown colder. The leaves on the
trees, those that are not year-round, have turned. Everywhere there is
yellow, brown and copper. Sometimes one sees something of surpassing
beauty. Such as in a grove of russet leaves, one small dark leafed tree
with fine maroon-coloured leaves. Shimmering like dark flame within
bright flame. Or making one think of a wine and the warmth it leaves
after the evening meal.
The sun was going down behind the forest when I made my way back
to the city. Its light was deep. As though the light of day had become fire
and was dispersing through the heavy branches and the darkened green
of the year-rounds.
I heard my steps on the forest path. I was aware they kicked up dust
and snapped twigs. And I searched my heart for courage.