I want to tell you a story
The story of a place that is not of this world
The story of an ever moving town
This town sprouted within the rocky underground of an island
And for a long time its inhabitants grew trees and vines
To complement their dark and musty vaults
With luminous and airy cathedrals
Once the town had grown up and started shining in its full splendor
Its inhabitants discovered that by singing together in their tree cathedral they could move the island
It could travel as a boat over the ocean
And instead of remaining stuck in loneliness in the middle of the seas
They started to travel their ship island from country to country, from port to port
Becoming real Bedouins of the ocean
Their island provided them with all they needed to daily survive
Fruits, fresh water, fishes and mollusks
And what they lacked they traded in port towns
Offering in exchange beautiful treasures of nacre and coral
They had patiently carved with their knowing hands
One day as they were singing and journeying over the waves
The horizon disappeared from their view and the sky darkened
And soon the ocean started hitting their island with an unusual force
And the raging waves filled the little craters in the middle
Threatening to ruin all the crops that grew there
To burn the trees and the vines that had patiently became the walls and the roofs of cathedrals, the loudspeakers of their voices
In desperation, the inhabitants of the town started chanting an air they had never sung to call off that fate
It spoke of their fear at the violence and the unfairness of this storm
But as the hymn unraveled, it told the story of townsmen’s strength and determination to resist
Slowly, slowly
Slowly
Faster
Faster, stronger
And their words grew and grew until their song became a shout, the shout of a howling beast
Their voices resonated as though they made one, and distinct words were no longer audible, and the vaults sheltering them started trembling
The inner storm had grown stronger than the outer storm
And suddenly very old memories reawakened in the depth of the island
Times when it wasn’t bound to the ocean but could freely float through space
And it flapped its wings, these forgotten wings and started flying
Carried by the chant of its townsmen
Elevating above the sea, soon reaching plains, crossing mountains
And from that day, the ever moving town journeys from continent to continent
It sometimes lands somewhere for a few days, a few weeks
And townsmen harvest all the resources they need from that place
And they share the wisdom of the sea and that of the sky with earthlings, these people who have always had hard soil under their feet
Before setting off again to other worlds to explore, to touch with their flying grace
