This is the space between Worlds.
The light is ageless and strange.
Dark pools the portals, those many Connla’s Wells,
doorways to Other places.
Here no river of fate can flow.
A hundred World Trees whisper to each other.
Yggdrassil’s branches touch those of a brother Tree
and somewhere on an alien landscape, a strange man looks up and shivers.
Slowly, the drip-drip-drip plays out a timeless, tuneless lullaby.
deeper into this place where Nothing happens.
The ground is so soft, so silent.
Just a few minutes more.
Forget who you are.
You can walk with the Great Ones here,
the stilled Forces behind time and tide —
But you might rather not.
They pass the pools and stare into them.
Sometimes they reach in and stir the waters,
From here you can look down and watch
a thousand lives woven into the great pattern,
a thousand existences beginning and ending in a moment.
And you far away from it all.
Dark pools the portals.
But which leads where?
It has been a long time, and no time,
and you can no longer find the lock for your golden key.
With thanks to CS Lewis and The Magician’s Nephew.