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Forest by Marcus Ganahl

A Weaver

Teeming with life, the forest sprawled forth from the Great Tree.
Every crevice filled with birds, and snakes, and orchids.
And stranger things.
Furbolgs, satyrs,… fel creatures of the wood which have no name.
The smallest insect,
The greatest bear,
All hanging pendulously on life’s web,
strung between the boughs of the forest
Sometimes, in a primal act of ferocity, glints of this web can be seen, catching stray rays of light that make it through the canopy.
A hungry great cat pounces on a fawn,
In their dance, the play of prey and predator is easy to see --
but what of the mother and child?
The father and mother?
The ancestor and the seventh-great grandchild?
All is there.
A gnat being swatted by a young elf;
A bat leaving the cave where it was born for the first time;
A fish wriggling downstream and slipping over a waterfall in a rill;
A weaver of sufficient delicacy may perceive the ways in which these ripples in the great web are not so unrelated.
One must simply lay their fingertips on any given point -- anywhere -- 
And hold utterly still.
And listen.

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