by Ariana Dawnhawk

Here it is rocky, more suitable for sheep than people
A wild place, not the refined paradise some imagine it as
Here paths trace the hills
and out of the restless winds and streams
come words, come stories
and laughter.

A scattering of pebbles
a scattering of dice
and the patterns make the next turn in the road
make the paths down into eventual darkness
and Hermes watches.

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