Singing on Dew: Longing

Jade branches snapped their scented shade; red plums stained pale silk. This time, there was no gentle palm to warm it, no bright lantern light to guide the way. A flawless white feather fell into dust and mire, its spirit dimming, fading little by little. Then, faint as a silken thread, a calling voice arose, and hurrying footsteps drew near from afar, until at last it was cradled in a lush, fragrant embrace.