Green as the sea. Green, like his father's eyes.
The green of a titanic gas nebula, sprawled across the endless black canvas of space. Glowing, gestating, birthing a billion suns.
Green fading, changing. Green transforming to gold.
Dawn. Sunrise. A new day. Another. And another. Hundreds of days, millions, more. Days without number, days without end.
Time. Space. Where one begins and the other ends, Fields cannot say.
Directionless, dimensionless, without form or substance. Flotsam and jetsam on creation's tide. Drifting.
Gas and dust become stars and worlds. Mountains erupt, crumble, rise once more.
Life. Creatures. People. In rude huts, in palaces, in soaring towers piercing the sky. On four legs, on two, on wheels, wings, soaring to the heavens on columns of flame.
There are cities. Countries. Empires and war. Civilisations rise, flourish and fall. Satin gowns shimmer, there's the gleam of cold steel, arcane potions bubble and boil. Leathern wings darken the sun, while below the earth trembles to a heavy tread.
Villains without number, heroes, deeds of derring-do. Last stands, lost causes, fights 'til the end. One-in-a-million-shots saving the day.
But most times, not.
Fact, myth, legend, truth, science, magic, light, dark, life, death, sushi.
Sushi?
Drifting. Faster. Falling. No, fading.
A meadow. A single, perfect blade of grass, vivid and green in the gold summer light. The sky eternal blue. Warmth. Peace. Rest.
A figure, featureless. A silhouette, haloed by the sun.
A hand.