Scynt

In the beginning, was the dream.

It starts with a blow, soft motion of air. Uncertain, sinuous, it gains impetus and arises, wiping the expanses. Faceless, it observes everything it passes through. Faceless, right in the eye of everybody, so often ignored, but always present. In every moment. Its absence is nonsense, static is its antithesis. It's dynamic flow, one of the guises chosen by Energy to reveal itself to creatures.

It lifts me.