Under a deep yellow sun and in a long stretch of trees…

            Each tree being an ancient, writhing thing like a snake.  Not ancient like the pines, whose bark begins to flake off, but more like something cool and solid – a muscular arm or a slowly moving snake that slides into the earth itself.

            These trees have thick branches.  Their limbs are not like the tall skinny ones that move in the wind, that release all their dry leaves become like skeletal shadows in the day.  None of these trees made such a gross misuse of space.  The limbs are all very fruitful.  And the leaves are so abundant as to become not separate things but one solid brush of green.

            Though these trees are strong and ancient, they seem smooth like young ones.  And though there are abundant fields about, the trees are not weak like the stereotype – the single tree in the middle of the field, prey to insects, fungus, lightning, and water.

            The inhabitants of this place are quite the same as the trees.  Much larger than us, they come to almost the same height.

            Their skin is slightly yellow, though one could probably not tell very well in the landscape of yellow and deep green.  It is sort of oily in a way, though not dirty.  To the touch it would be smooth but somehow thick and strong.

            Their hair is very dark – the darkest thing in the whole landscape.  But it also shines with oil.  Each strand disappears to the mass of the whole thing, a solid and flowing shadow following the head’s movements.

            A woman, older than the rest yet still very beautiful, sits at the foot of a thick tree in the grass.  She is with child.  One could imagine walking up to her body and knocking on it like one of the trees, only to hear a low wooden echo resonate from the womb in which the child lies.

            She has cared for her family during the day, feeding them meals mainly of something not unlike olives.  During the feast, the feet of those walking about sunk low into the dirt.

            Her mother has given birth to most of the residents of this place.  She is not dead, however.  The inhabitants of this place do not die, but become silent and still as the trees themselves.  For centuries to come they will provide their fruit as sustenance for their own children and grandchildren.

            Her brother is a virgin.  His life has been devoted to the sun and the sky and water.  To bring these things worship is to ensure longevity for his family and others.

            Today he brought with him news that one would rather not listen to.

            In a large field of grass he sat by a small stream.  Moving veins of water are not very common, and are as such places of great beauty and power.  In the whispers of the waters he heard a Voice.

            “Go to your people,” It said.  “They are today a people which will end, a generation that will cease, and a memory forgotten.”

            “But why?  What have my people done to make the waters angry?”

            “The waters and the earth, the sky and the sun, have made the mistake.  Beyond that our own Father has been mistaken.  Tell your people to make peace in their last moments.”

            And the worshiper did not protest, knowing that all is all that should be.

            And when the worshiper told his family the news, a brother spoke in protest.

            “Do not you know that your very own sister is with child?  A new generation will be born unto us.  A new blessing is offered to us.

            “The waters and earth!  The sky and sun!  They aim to take this blessing from us!  Go back to them and reverse their decision!”

            At this there was a cheer.

And at this, the worshiper replied, “Do you not see?  It is this very arrogance that may have very well brought the undoing of this place!

“The waters and earth are not our enemies nor are they even our neighbors.  They are us!  They are what is inside us!”

“The sky is our breath and the sun our warmth!  They are not outsiders.  They are the pieces from which we were made!”

The crowd took their anger to the worshiper.  It was the first time in such a place that blood was spilt and all were unsure as to whether or not blood was first created at that moment as well.

Soon after the world became undone.  And with it the brothers and the pregnant sister were undone as well.

The first blood, the blood of the worshiper, became the only remnant.