…a spark cracked at the next attempt with the stones and the laid shrubs caught the fire. He set the swallow to roast.
He took a helping of it and savoured its taste with delight. Opening his eyes, a butterfly buzzed over the stream, to the applause of his eyes and he heard his last words.
‘You must not imprison beauty no matter how innocently; let beauty as truth roam freely’
He set a foot to the temperate of the stream, a cool breeze caressed him but the sparrows wailed in the distant background.