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The hour is grey.

In a shade somewhere between light blue and iron grey the half-light is filtered throught the foliage that surrounds us where we sit, encompassed by the leaf-rich crown of the immense tree in which we are seated. In the half-twilight the probably otherwise uniformly dark-green, thick foliage, the many-branched branch upon which we sit, our clothes, and ourseves are coloured almost metallically blue-grey. The origin of this halflight I do not know. Maybe the sun of daylight is awaiting either further descent or ascent right below a horizon obscured to me, maybe an almost unnaturally bright moon is blazing appallingly high above the highest branches of even this huge tree.

Around us the tree is soughing. The thick branches with their heavy clusters of leaves enclose us completely from any view of the outside world, in an embracingly manner that I would most likely have found almost motherly, if the light hadnít given the leaves and branches such a coldly unemotional appearance. I do not remember when, but I do remember that my companion here has given me their name: Friend. And I also know that I for certain know them, however, I do not know—or I do not remember—who it is. A moment ago, when we had grabbed eachotherís hands, Friend told me a tale, a tale of whose contents I only understood half, but which nevertheless made the most curious images form within my mind. And I sang a song to Friend, allthough I couldnít remember where I had first heard it myself. Maybe I have once composed it myself, it is even a possibility that I composed it in the same moment that I sang it. Perhaps we will in a moment once again take eachotherís hands.

Iron-grey is the hour, and the tree is sighing and whispering around us, the likewise iron-grey—or metallic blue-grey—branches are moving almost rythmically, set in motion by a slight wind. The whispers that are echoing from above and below through the treecrown sometimes seem clearer than at other times; sometimes yet it almost seems like we can in them percieve words or even partial sentences. Some of these clearer whispers appear to us to have a meaning that scares us, others are almost comforting, while others yet are only confusing. And it appears as well as other creatures than ourselves dwell in the tree, although they are invisible to us: we hear sounds as those made by birds and quickly by-sneaking rodents. Once it even seemed like some large, crawling creature—perhaps a giant snake, covered by ironlike greyed, stiffly rustling scales—was furtively sliding past the location in which we are seated. At that instant at least the hairs on back of my neck rose.

We are here together. Apart from that it does not seem like I—or we—know so much. Besides, Friend is aside from their tale-telling before a person of very few words, so what they really know is to me unknown. If we arrived here together I no longer have any recollection thereof, neither if we first met here, or if we have met elsewhere at an earlier time, here in the tree or in some other place.

Neither do I know what will come to pass hereafter—maybe we will separate, one of us climbing upwards, the other downwards in the tree; maybe we will leave this location together, beginning a climb somewhere else in the gigantic crown of the tree. I do know though, that I here and know appreciate the presence and companionship of Friend.

The hour is grey, but the light seems to be changing. I donít know, however, whether the cause of the change is an approaching dawn or dusk, or wether it is the moon, that round and bluishly blazing is rising in the heavens.

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