#transience

[sictransitgloriamvndi]

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[madcat-world]

Thy Winter is Forever - J Edward Neill

[3eanuts]

December 25, 1956 — see The Complete Peanuts 1955-1958

[introspect1998]

I don't want to be a phase

A leaf in each season

An eye with no vision

A wind that has gone

A king without a throne

A drop of water that falls and soon dries

A hurricane which comes and swiftly passes by

A day won't return

A fire that no longer burns

A gaze no more amazes

Above all, I don't want to be a phase.

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 1: "i've got you." / fontaine siblings

lyney wakes to the sound of crying.

his ears are attuned to it. lynette, in the days after their parents’ deaths, would muffle her sobs, keep her cries quiet, so not to draw attention to herself. when they found themselves in their first foster home, along with other children, the younger ones would wail for mothers that would never come, and the older ones would cry to mourn for their lost future. lyney held them all, whispered in their ears, swallowed his own tears to be the older brother that they needed.

don’t worry, it’s all right. i’ve got you.

and tonight, it looks like someone is in need of reassurance.

lynette, curled by his side, stirs when he moves off the bed. she raises her head, eyes bleary with sleep, voice hoarse when she whispers, “lyney?”

“there’s someone crying. i’m going to check it out.” he doesn’t tell her to stay; she’s followed him everywhere since the first time they were separated.

the hallway is cold. moonlight pours in through the windows along the wall, torches flickering from the wind that’s snuck in. lyney closes the door behind them – they have their own room, not because they’re favored over the others, but because they’re the newest arrivals. he takes his sister’s hand and tip-toes down the hallway.

there is one door ajar – the children’s room. there are six beds, all filled, decorated with varying plushies, blankets, or other possessions that were left with the children. an oil lamp rests on either wall in the center, light dim. it’s enough to direct lyney to where he has to go: freminet.

despite the boy’s intellect when it comes to trinkets, he’s delicate, as fragile as clockwork on the verge of shutting down. his bed is one of the emptiest, dropped off at the house with nothing but pers, a clockwork marvel that his father left behind, and a penguin plushie that lyney has never seen freminet without. he’s only a few months younger, but held on to the promise that his mother would come back for him.

it makes sense for him to weep, mourning over unfulfilled words.

his bed is furthest from the door. the other children are sound asleep, or perhaps ignorant. freminet is upright, knees drawn to his chest, head bowed to muffle his cries, penguin soaked from his tears. a blanket falls from his shoulders and onto the floor. lyney picks it up. “freminet?”

when he looks up, his face is red, bangs obscuring his eyes. lyney sits down and brushes hair away from his face. “it’s all right. you don’t have to cry.”

“mama didn’t come for me.” his whisper is punctured with sobs. “where is she?”

he could've lied, reassured him that it was only a matter of time until she's knocking on the heavy doors for him, but he doesn't. it's useless to lie to family. “she isn’t coming. this is your new home, now.” no children have ever returned home after being left at the house. those who left either become soldiers beneath the tsaritsa or disappear into the darkness. “it’s okay, fremmy. we have each other.”

freminet hiccups. “it’s so lonely here. i’m too old for the kids but too young for the older ones. all i have is pers, but it didn’t matter since mama said she’d come back. but now…”

“come with us – you can sleep in our bed.” lyney offers him a hand. “i’ll read you a bedtime story.” after a moment of hesitation, the younger boy takes it, penguin plush clutched to his chest.

the bed isn’t large enough for all three of them, but they make it work. lyney is squeezed in the middle, with a sibling clinging to him on either side. he folds his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling as he tries to string words together for a story. “once upon a time, there were three siblings. they came from a loving family, and each day together was fun. that all came to an end when their parents suddenly died, and they were left alone.

“it was hard for them to survive by themselves – they weren’t old enough to work, and because there were three of them, no one wanted to adopt them all. it was either one or two, but the siblings would not separate. the police didn’t do anything about them, either. there were lots of children without families or homes, and they couldn’t help all of them. that’s why the siblings decided to do what they could on their own.

“the oldest brother turned to magic. he watched a magician and learned sleight of hand and simple card tricks using a deck that he stole from the toy store. the middle sister used her hearing and sharp senses to overhear other people talk about good places to sleep or where to pick up a few coins. the youngest brother, though small, was the most innocent in his ways. he would dive underwater and find things that people had dropped, no matter how small, and if he wasn’t diving, he would play with clockwork and make toys with parts that people had thrown away.

“it took a long time, but they were able to afford a house, nice clothes, and proper equipment to do their work. the older brother and sister became famous magicians, and the younger brother became a famous diver. they all lived happily ever after, doing what they loved, and promising to never let a child live without a family.”

lynette has fallen asleep. freminet, however, is wide awake. he’s staring at him with hopeful eyes. “is it true? can kids do something like that?”

lyney reaches over to ruffle his hair. “of course, if we work together. we’re one another’s family now, and if we all do our part, we’ll make our own future. no matter what happens, your older brother’s got you, okay? get some sleep.”

freminet nods, then buries his head deeper beneath the blankets, closing his eyes. lyney turns to face the ceiling again. he knows that fairytales are just that – fantasies with varying degrees of truth. even if this is a future that he wants, it’s a future that can’t be obtained.

but…as the older brother, he knows that he’ll do anything he can to make it truth.

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Sergius Hruby - Vergänglichkeit (Transience), from 'Die Muskete', 1934.

[vintage-tigre]

[design-is-fine]

Hans Hansen, Paeonia, 1989. C-Print. Via MKG Hamburg

[beifongkendo]

Ceramics exploring the concept of wabi sabi (the beauty of imperfection and transience), by Ohira Shingo and Sano Naoko

[the-evil-clergyman]

Vergänglichkeit, from Die Muskete by Sergius Hruby (June 1934)

[sictransitgloriamvndi]

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[iconicosmica]

✧entity✦ sometimes I see everything staring in the mirror at what lurks behind it eternity returns my gaze we are but a mask the night wears ✦iconicosmica✦

[isai-64v16]

Redbubble: Isai-64v16.redbubble.com Tumblr: isai-64v16 Twitter: @isai_64v16 Pinterest: https://pin.it/5I3nvjU Paypal me: paypal.me/Isai64v16

[flyingwargle]

flufftober day 8 rainy day / freminet, lyney

the rain has been unpredictable lately. it rained overnight last week, stopped, then continuously for three days. just as it began to clear up, the clouds gathered once more, and a light shower descended onto the city.

freminet sits at the window. he enjoys watching the rain, especially how the townspeople carry on with their day, unobstructed. they aren’t unfamiliar with spontaneous changes in weather; after all, nature has always had a mind of its own. he rests his elbow on the windowsill and leans his cheek against his hand, comforted by the rhythmic pitter-patter.

although he and his mother lived beneath the city, she always seemed to know exactly when the weather turned. she would stop and glance upwards, sky blocked by layers upon layers of stone, and softly proclaim that it was raining. freminet was mystified, always seeking a way to see if she were right, but the opportunity never came, until the day she took him by the hand and led him aboveground, where a light drizzle accompanied their path to the house of the hearth.

she hadn’t said anything that day, aside from kissing him goodbye and vowing to return.

“whatcha up to, fremmy?”

he glances over his shoulder. lyney approaches, dressed down, plain without his makeup. his older brother always looks haunted, eyes eerily bright, as if accustomed to the spotlight rather than the dreary atmosphere. he doesn’t smile, keeps his expression neutral. it’s tiring to smile all the time.

“i’m just watching the rain.” freminet returns to the window, lyney peeking over him.

“again, huh? looks like something upset the hydro dragon.” lyney sighs. “i have to wait until it’s sunny again to practice my new trick. the rain has meddled with my schedule, so i had to do some work for father.”

“is that why lynette isn’t here?”

“no, she’s in our room, curled up. you know how cats are like on a rainy day.” lyney would never admit it, but he displays similar behavior. it’s just because of his restlessness that makes him seem otherwise.

freminet doesn’t comment. they return to the window. there’s not much happening, as one would expect on a wet occasion. as the silence stretches, he speaks up, words soft in a murmur. “did you know that the weather is tied to the archons?”

it’s a myth that his mother used to tell him. she would seat him on her lap, wrap her arms around him, speak in a low voice, as if her story was only for him. it was a secret that they shared, knowledge known by no one else. until now.

“this is the first that i’ve ever heard of this,” lyney remarks. “tell me.”

“a windstorm means that the anemo archon has been hurt in many ways. since wind comes in different directions, so can emotions, as well as conflict. it’s only when all has been resolved that the winds will calm down.” freminet remembers her words easily, although he can’t replicate her tone. he closes his eyes, imagines himself in their tiny one-room apartment, barely held together with rusted nails, the sound of leaking water in the background.

“earthquakes mean the geo archon is walking to confront a problem. he has been angered, and his ire vibrates with every footstep. when the earth is calm, so is he; but if the earth trembles, it is his opponent, shaking with fear, because they must suffer the wrath of the rock.

“when there’s thunder and lightning, it means that the electro archon is in combat. she needs both when fighting against her enemies – thunder to show that she’s coming, and lightning to show that she will show no mercy. that’s why it never strikes the same place twice.”

lyney looks amused. “i can’t imagine what kind of storm the dendro archon will whip up.”

“the dendro dragon can control when the leaves fall and regrow,” freminet answers. “it means that she’s getting rid of trouble and letting new life take their place.”

“fascinating. what about the hydro archon? we already know that rain represents the hydro dragon.”

“what if it has another meaning? what if rain means that the hydro archon is washing the pain of her people away?”

they’re silent. they know it’s not true – after all, they know the actual face of their archon. what if, in a past life, that it was? and now that burden has fallen onto the hydro dragon? their eyes meet, a spark of understanding shared between them. neither speak.

“it was snowing that night father rescued lynette.” lyney’s voice is barely a whisper. “if rain is to wash the pain away, snow is to create hardship and isolation. it might be pure, but it can be easily tainted.” freminet shivers. although it was raining when he last saw his mother, it was the middle of winter. it snowed that night.

what if the rain was to reassure his mother that he would be okay, but the snow solidified the life that he would lead?

“oh. it cleared up.”

freminet looks up at lyney’s monotone. sun peeks out through the clouds as they dissipate, uninvited guests to the party. umbrellas close, droplets fall into puddles, and adults circumvent them while children splash through the shallow depths. it’s business as usual.

lyney walks off, saying something about preparing to head out. freminet stands, looking out the window to watch the last cloud retreat, until all that’s left is a clear sky. hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry. his mother taught him the chant, told him to yell it to the sky whenever it rains. he didn’t have the chance, but perhaps that means the hydro dragon is strong enough to cease their tears on their own.

if rain washes the pain away, snow creates hardship and isolation, that means the sun leaves only perseverance. he walks in the light, leaving the shadows of the past behind.