Perched on a high branch of the Bumble Birch tree, Hanz watched his Maker as he worked on his next creation in his Book of Life. Dipping the quill into the inkwell and looping it across the newly woven spider’s web pages was the only motion that could be seen in the study as far as Hanz could tell. Having the ability to read upside down, he watched as his maker added onto his story of his life, telling the exact moment, controlling it as it carried out into his future.

Hanz always wondered about how his maker could do that, make a story as it lived and the life would follow the book, live out the story or maybe it was the other way around? The Maker was the Hierophant and made the story to make a new life and that life would be lived as the book was written. Like, as the book reads, right now it makes Hanz pounder and puts his thoughts down as he thinks them because of the book. Oh, it was just so confusing!

Flying back to his nest, Hanz fell into a state of confusing depression as he thought over how his life was controlled word for word, line for line until it made a complete story of his own. Being a vulture and all, he couldn’t really grasp nor think far beyond the limits that the Hierophant gave him. What about destiny? Or the mystery of a future that you have to play by the ear as each word is said out of surprise?

Out of habit, Hanz picked up a violin that has been there as far back as his memory could stretch and he has always played it, every since…ever. He had no memory of childhood or even any proof that he was a child or of anything dying or living or changing much. He was just there, plating his violin and always pondering how he was made into creation and flying to spy on his Maker…yet he never grew tired of it.

It was like how Emmis, the gate keeper, was always seen sitting on the lake pier fishing but never catching anything from dawn to dusk. He was sometimes seen inside his hut on the side of the Path drinking tea and staring into his fireplace but that was it that was Emmis. Never eating, never leaving the lake side and always guiding the few new creations on to their rightful places.

A never ending cycle that was constantly forgotten by time and yet changed according to the Hierophant’s thoughts and control of the scratching quills path. Tomorrow everything would start again but with a new creature, creation, and new story to live out and tell on to the future creations. Tomorrow, Hanz may not play his violin or tomorrow he won’t exist. Maybe Emmis would move from the pier or catch a fish to eat…Or maybe tomorrow won’t come at all and the night will hold the compromise of being left to be written in order to begin again with a new story line.

Hanz fell asleep only to forget the night before and only to start a new day of storytelling. To perch on the Bumble Birch Tree and watch as a new creation wonder down the path to stop and talk to Emmis at his hut, to find a new place and possible be tied into Hanz’s story. Only tomorrow can tell and only the Hierophant’s hand will allow Hanz to pick up his violin again, his most loved possession.