At the close of a productive week, I sit at the water's edge and load my pipe with a bowl of Cornell and Diehl's Innsmouth.
I set flame to the tobacco and as the smoke rises, I contemplate the secrets that lie beneath the surface of the water. What hidden horrors lurk in those fathomless depths where light of sun seldom goes and song of bird never reaches. What terrible truths are hidden below the placid water that if ever discovered by mortal minds would shatter them into utter madness. What nameless creatures might be looking furtively back up at us who walk upon the earth and breathe the open air with contempt and malice, ever awaiting the day when they rise above the surface to bring ruin and destruction to all those who dwell upon the land.
The smoke continues to rise and twists and swirls through the branches of an ancient tree above my head, branches that are ever reaching and groping towards the untouchable sky. Likewise, the roots of the old tree continually burrow and delve into the depths of the earth seeking sustenance from the soil, consuming the infernal nutrients left behind by centuries of decay and death under the ground using them to fuel it's unhurried yet unceasing expansion.
As the shadows of night close about me, I can see, above the branches of the ancient tree and in the reflection of the placid water, the glint of the emerging stars. They gaze down at me across infinite abyyses of space and time with total and utter indifference, an indifference more powerful than the malice of the nameless things beneath the water, an indifference more ancient than the unceasing growth of the old tree. The fire of their light will never be quenched by the groping of the tree or the rising of the nameless creatures, nor will their movements ever be checked by the advancement of mankind's conceited civilizations. The stars continue in their indifference, and their light reveals our insignificance.
I sit, and the countless sources of my dread surround me. And yet I am comforted, for our doom, though it balances upon the edge of a knife or hangs from a spider's tenouos thread, has not fallen upon us yet. And I have yet this fleeting moment to sit and smoke, and it is enough.
#grownostr #pipeandtobacco #hplovecraft
