Thursday, August 18, 2011

Like touching butterflies...

A long time ago, in the faraway land of Oz; the Tin Man swung his axe, and let out a sigh. Not a grunt, like most make when swinging an axe (for the Tin Man was strong), but a sigh.

How long had it been? A week? A month? Years even? He couldn't be certain. Time had seemed to move differently since those heels tapped together.

Many things had changed since that moment. Sure, at first glance, everything was much the same as it ever was. The poppy fields still swayed in the wind, the munchkins still hid whenever a stranger was near, and the Emerald City still glittered and gleamed in the sunshine. But still, things were different.

The Scarecrow, with his cunning, had become manipulative and full of greed; and the Lion, with his courage (which is different to bravery), had become a bully to all those weaker than he (which was most, for lions are such powerful creatures). 

But the Tin Man, with his clean, new heart, had become sad. 

For a new heart is not as cold and rugged as an old heart, and is easily broken. He found a love of art, and poetry, and music. Yet still, he missed her. He discovered a new zeal for his woodcutting, and enjoyed being outdoors amidst the forest. Yet still, he missed her. He found beauty in the impermanence of things, like life and stars and the sound of ringing in the ears. And yet, still, he missed her. 

He missed the singing, and the dancing. And he missed the way the colours of the world seemed brighter whenever she was around. The way she talked. The way she looked. He missed just being near her.

And even though he was thankful of being able to feel anything at all, still, he was sad.