A thorny stalk shot up out of the immaterial. Leaves ran from it desperately, as if it could not grow fast enough. Then petals came, black, and silver, and green and blue and grey and gold. So many different colours that it seemed to change just depending on where one stood.
This beautiful, reaching flower, in the centre of this impossible storm that tore apart the world around it. A complexity to it. A love evident in it, along with the danger. And above it all, a want. One that once more dragged together the involvement of the world around it. That took from the dust and soil swirling in the storm, and gave that flower an embankment of the richest earth. That saw a tree shoot up along with it, high, and thick, and with a terrible sense of ancientness, as if it had been growing for thousands of years.
