Where does the story begin? Where does it find itself in the fall? Just beyond, just beyond Where it will show us all Where does a bird find her wings? Where does she find herself in the spring? Just beyond, just beyond Where she'll see everything And where does a Midwinter live? Where do they find the wonders they give? Just beyond, just beyond In the woods, just beyond In the sky, just beyond In the pages just beyond the pages you'll expect to need The pages that write themselves are the pages that you'll read In the woods, in the sky Just beyond, just behind...

In the woods behind the woods behind unsuspecting houses, in a place between somewhere and somewhere else, there was an old stone wall. It stretched across a small, secluded dell like a miniature bridge between two sides of a dried-up river, and it had the aura of a place imagined by children long since gone. The structure was not more than several yards across, two-or-so feet tall at its center and approximately the same in width along the relatively level span that disappeared into opposing slopes of soil and roots. The stonework was weathered, yet sturdy enough to have the potential to be everlasting, a possibility not yet disproved. It was, perhaps, the lone piece of evidence that mankind had once attempted to bring its notions of borders and crossings to the dell. The wall was largely unadorned, except for a small, barely-noticeable opening in the shape of a semicircular arch scarcely four inches in radius where it met the valley’s dry trough. Perhaps it was a product of natural erosion, or perhaps it was designed by one who tended toward whimsy, something similar to a fairy door without the requirement of woodwork. Someone might have wondered these things, if there had been those around who could wonder, but there were not. On a particular late afternoon of an equally late autumn of a year long since lost, a songbird scarcely four inches from beak to tail had the thought to fly down from a branch on a nearby tree to the familiar brief perch atop the stone wall. It always felt comfortable to perch there for a moment before flying to another nearby tree. The songbird did not question this, for she did not question things that brought her comfort. She did not know what type of songbird she was, but she knew she was a bird of song, and she knew her name was Bree. A favorite spot on the wall A quick look around, a quick look at home For any reason not to indulge In a blissful moment of claw upon stone Bree's eye was drawn to something In the bright red and orange leaves That stuffed the arched opening under the wall And Bree changed course With her bright red and orange feathers That matched so perfectly with her first fall And she knew she could trust this feeling Though it was quite distinct From the feelings she knew intimately In her own instinct But still it felt right And she was curious And there was a stillness And claw disturbed leaf And the colors matched so perfectly But Bree scarcely noticed as she went to work In a process much like making a nest in reverse... Driven to pierce the wall A quick look around, a quick look at home For any reason not to indulge In this frenzied movement, though Bree was alone Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Leaf, darkness Light Light poured through, a strange light that felt distant, As if it were that faintly-remembered glow From the perspective of her mother’s nest So many days ago, Filtering through living leaves above, now filtering through dead leaves below. And she knew she could trust this light Though it was quite distinct From any light she knew was real Before she reached this brink And Bree pushed through And Bree looked around Still among leaves Still on the ground And she saw that there were no warmly-colored leaves on the forest floor And the promises of the wind were much more hopeful than before And the warmth she felt was warmth of comfort she could not ignore Because she did not question things that brought her comfort But she could always use more Bree then decided to get a better view As a songbird like Bree would instinctively do So she took off from the ground With a graceful flap of wing To perch upon a nearby branch... And then she saw everything. The sun was bright, but it was muted by the lush leaves above and around, and its rays were scattered like luminescent pollen upon the dense, leafy underbrush, upon the patches of moss upon familiar speckled rocks, upon the wildflowers growing brazenly and brightly for the insects to find, and of course, upon the stone wall itself. It was the sight Bree imagined when she felt an idyllic morning warmth upon a soon-to-open eyelid, full of all of the promise of a perfect sunrise. Adjusting her footing as habit and instinct would often dictate, she heard her own rapid heartbeat before she realized what she was hearing from her surroundings: the sounds of life. Vibrant, renewed life. It was not just the distant bird calls of other types of birds, or the faint sounds of the insects that were long gone only moments before. It was also the crispness of it all, the freshness, the hopefulness that made a sound itself. The woods rang with a song more beautiful than even Bree could sing. And yet, it was an invitation for accompaniment, and Bree happily, yet inquisitively, obliged. Her voice rang out over the dell, and she listened for the answer she knew would come: her name, a simple reassurance of familial memory. She shared the name Bree with all of the other songbirds of her family, differentiated by pitch and tone for each individual. And it did come, a voice very much like her own, calling out her name. Bree, Bree Bree, Bree She heard a response that confers A name, a Bree, not hers She tried again, another pitch More similar to her own A moment, a call that nearly lures: A name, a Bree, not hers She started to feel her heart Fall-ter So she hopped and hoped her perch would alter Something, something... Where was she going? Back to the wall? Comfort was all around her Yet no kin at call Back to the wall Back to her favorite spot on the wall She looked around one more time At all the beauty she thought was gone And jumped down to the ground, and through the hole To ground herself in the less-wrong - As her eyes adjusted, no pleasant sight greeted Bree, nor did anything else offer anything like a greeting. The world she had accepted as reality only a small while earlier was so much more like the sorrowful goodbye of a sunset under clouds. Dark and darkening, the sun was still shining in the sky, but only for its weak beams to accentuate the beginnings of unknown decay. But it was where she belonged, and so Bree was glad it was still there, as she could not have been certain until she saw it for herself. She felt the slight give of a brittle leaf underfoot and, without hesitation, flew up to a bare branch. The declining scene before her, despite its lack of promise of any bright future upon the horizon, brought Bree a rise of unexplained comfort, and she did not question things that brought her comfort. And as the next logical action any songbird like Bree would find perfectly natural, Bree sang her call, expecting her pitch of name in response. Bree, Bree Bree, Bree A ghostly response that confers A name, a Bree, not hers She tried again, another pitch Less similar to her own A moment, a call that nearly lures: A name, a Bree, not hers Again and again Her pulse quickening Her movements frantic Her soul sickening Branch to branch to branch to branch to branch to branch to branch... Call, response, a Bree, not hers A louder Call, response, a Bree, not hers A strained Call, response, a Bree, not hers A breathless Call, response, a Bree, not hers An exhausted Call, response, a Bree, not hers A fainting Call... Bree awoke upon a cushion of leaves, red with only their own color. She gingerly hopped to her feet with a shake of her feathers and looked around. She was still where she knew she was last, and the day hardly had progressed, though the sun was very low in the sky. Bree tested her wings, flying just up to her favorite stone on the wall. They were unsteady for takeoff, but she was able to quickly regain control. Bree then flew to a higher branch again. She had the urge to sing her call. But she did not, for it no longer brought her comfort. Bree paused, as she could not find a next action to bring her comfort so easily, looking around haphazardly at her surroundings to keep moving. A tree, a leaf, a squirrel burying something, the wall, the opening. The world beyond the opening was unfamiliar and lonely, but now this one was, too. And there was a chance that she could be heard on the other side this time. And so, she flew to a branch, another branch, the favorite spot, the ground, and through the opening yet again. + The return to the bright and hopeful greenery of the other side was lovely at first, the promising rays of morning-like sunshine slightly warming Bree’s feathers. She fanned her wings out a little in response before gathering herself quickly and flying to a nearby branch. This was comfortable, but there was still hesitation in her movements as she looked around (tree, flower, squirrel running off, wall, opening) while deliberating her call. There was something different about the sun, but it was comforting, and she did not question things that brought her comfort. Her instinct to sing eventually won over her momentary indecisiveness. She sang her call. Bree, Bree Bree, Bree An expected response that confers A name, a Bree, not hers Bree, Bree Bree, Bree That expected response that confers A name, a Bree, not hers There was precedent for this now, so the despair was accordingly dulled. Bree welcomed this, as it was at least relative comfort compared with what she had experienced the last time. Still, with that, the novelty of the bright world was quickly fading, and the opening was the only way forward. It drew her eye more now, and she did not stop at her favorite spot on the wall before landing upon the soft grass nearby. She looked once more to the trees above and felt how she felt when she woke up a little earlier than expected. Then, without further hesitation, she darted through. - On the side of waning sunset, Bree felt less than she did before: less of dread, less of hope. Still, she gave her call, and received the same impersonal response. Her family was there, but she was alone, and the repetition only reinforced the expectation further. She did not waste any time before moving back through the opening. + And so, Bree began to oscillate. - + - + - + - + - + - Bree’s world was dimming to match the darkness of the tunnel under the stone wall, and this felt perfectly natural to Bree. After all, it was meant to be dark soon in the world where she awoke, and it would be time to sleep soon after. But both worlds were dimming at equal rates, and Bree was not feeling tired at all. In fact, she felt lighter and more agile with each pass through the opening. As she moved back and forth with increasing speed, the two worlds started to blur in her perception. All of her attention was upon the cyclical motion, and upon the opening. She did not question this. She would not. There was another sensation, one that was steadily taking over. A sensation of comfort, and a presence of a singular multitude beckoning her out of Time itself...

Come, Bree, come Come with me, Bree, come with me Come, Bree, come Come with me to infinity The leaves that fall in the speckled sky are stars in their own light And in your Fall you will feel wind in your wings that will take flight Will you join us? Oh will you join us? You have come so far You have come so far And you will go further still Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed As long as you confide Your deepest inconsistencies to fountain, quill, and spheres So that we may use comfort to surround your deepest fears Will you join us? Oh will you join us? You have come so far You have come so far And you will go further still Always further still Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed As long as you confide In yourself Within yourself Writing yourself Into yourself And then your self Will find your self And we will ask you And we will ask you Will you join us? Oh will you join us? You have come so far You have come so far And you will go further still Always further, always further Always, Always Will you join us? Oh will you join us? You have come so far You have come so far And you will go further still Always further still Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed Spread your wings, leave them behind Either way is fine Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed Your comfort will be guaranteed As long as you confide in us Come, Bree, come It is not far to the nearest star Come, Bree, come And we will show you just what we are...

We live in this world we own On the precipice of owning our magic Leaving our darkness lit ever-so-brightly And entering the light unknown Shaded by the comic and the tragic A relief of souls carved from our dreams nightly We are constellations We are constellations We are constellations We are constellations The galaxy expands above us A blanket weighted by memories Of the futures we may lay our soft touch upon Countless sparks of future glitter As we become Andromeda Saved by a Perseus of pure pen and noumenon We are constellations We are constellations We are constellations We are constellations We are constellations Waiting to be connected by Stories told to us By ourselves, each a star Each and every neuron A captain of a ship at sea Navigating by dreamlight As we sail, improbably far Branch, branch, branch and extend There are seeds of stars on every end Branch it yourself and you shall see The nebular tree bears its fruit to thee Branch, branch, branch and extend There are seeds of stars on every end Branch it yourself and you shall see The nebular tree bears its fruit to thee Oh, find me here Waiting for you In the middle of a tale Shining like A ray of light Heavy on the scale Yes indeed I'm in your dream I'll wait, regain your bearings For we have stepped Into ourselves With horns of splendor blaring: "Behold! Here is a now A crossroads of mind in dream And these dreamers are here for a reason And are all that they seem For seeming is believing And believing is what they've done They've crossed their paths upon this moon To create a new sun!" But we shall not stop there The sun is just a seed We plant it in the soil And give it what it needs And when it sprouts it blazes And blinds us with its light And soon we see so much more As our new plasmic bodies take flight! We are constellations! We are depicted on the fresco Painted on the largest dome! We are constellations! The stories we tell Are our eternal home! Branch, branch, branch and extend There are seeds of stars on every end Branch it yourself and you shall see The nebular tree bears its fruit to thee Branch, branch, branch and extend There are seeds of stars on every end Branch it yourself and you shall see The nebular tree bears its fruit to thee Trees have written memoirs now! Emboldened by their past! The branches scrape the stars now! Their words forever last! Bend and bend and bend and bend Extend extend extend extend Oh beautiful infinities Poured in discrete divinities Into our outstretched hands And we give it unto the lands! And it shall breathe life into this tree! It shall flower a story for thee! Go forth! Extend! Branch! Create! May your Heart be Never Late! Go forth! (Past north!) Extend! (No end!) Branch! (Carte blanche!) Create! (Don't wait!) May your (Own pure) Heart be (Carefree) We'll never lose you to Fate! Now, Bree, fly! This was not the momentary or relative comfort that Bree devoted her life to achieving again and again. This was a comfort in flux, of flux. She did not have to think of her next action anymore. That sequence was broken. In this new state, each action flowed into the next, and it was always the correct action, for it was always more comfortable than the last. And through this, Bree felt at peace, though she was moving in frenzy. Bree had not stopped singing her calls, but she carried them with her, not stopping for a moment to sing in one place. Soon, they started to become continuous, and then started to overlap, becoming a fugue. She felt herself singing, but she did not know how much of her surroundings was herself anymore. Did it stop at her feathers, which had started to turn and change? Did it stop at the wind rustling through them as she flew? Did it stop at the other songbirds joining her in this endless dance? There were indeed others, many others, flying with her now. Their feathers turned as well, matching hers: hues of deep goldenrod and vibrant amber and dark crimson. She knew this was so, even though the darkness was near complete, for these songbirds themselves were mere feathers of Bree’s being, and Bree knew her feathers well. They were dry and brittle and graceful and majestic. And she knew where each of them came from, and where each of them would go. And she knew the sunrise and the sunset. And she knew the spring and the autumn. And she did not question any of this, for even as she faded into eternity on infinite gusts scattering her far past the ends of her world, she did not question things that brought her comfort. Perched upon the very precipice of totality and oblivion, Bree decided, as she joined the flitting flurries of Midwinter outside of Time, that this was her new favorite spot on the wall. Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! Phantasmenoumenon! It shall bloom forever on! Phantasmenoumenon! Through the asymptote of dawn! And where can comfort be found? Where is the non-time between sky and ground? Just beyond, just beyond Just look beyond to know The many ways to go

(no words, just birds and love)