Zen Vanyar

[heget]

The Vanya scribe stares at the vellum under an outstretched hand, the long stroke of ink down the center of the page ready for mirrored sarati in precise lines. 

A long pause, a silence.

What good is the beauty of the calligraphy if the words are not profound?  

 

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The calligraphy sits atop a stack of such sheets, the Treelight catching on fragments of the gilded border. The Noldo brings the page up to read the lines of sarati, the elegant craftsmanship for each stroke, the antiquated script chosen for the aesthetic. It is a passage mediating on time, contemplating the use of a day, and the Noldo admires the sentiment as deeply as the pleasure of the beauty of the page. But when asked for a purchase price, the Vanya waves it away as a free gift; the Noldo can have it if the object speaks so deeply to a desire. The scribe has no need for it.

The purpose had been the hours of the careful act of writing it.