It was nearly evening when we finally finished unwrapping the layers of time that had gently shrouded our Great Treasure. We held our breath as the last of those timeworn wraps peeled back slowly, like the clothes of your first love, and exhaled softly as the Majesty of what he had found was revealed. There had been speculation, of course, that this was not actually the Treasure we had been seeking. That this lovely, fragile mystery was just another in an endless series of mishaps and mistaken identities. Our marks had been left all over this part of the world as we went seeking, always seeking.
Digging. Scratching. Uncovering. Dusting. Unwrapping. Beholding.
Walking away in tired disgust and weary sadness.
This time would be different. We had found it. We knew of its measurements (we had known them before) and we knew of its shape (we had drawn it a thousand times in each others' eyes with our very words) and this was the one that matched both and then matched them again.
Unwrapping. Whispering. Dusting. Loving. Discovering.
We stopped as the sun went down behind the hills, on to trouble the other half of the world for awhile. Somewhere, mused a companion, another small group of us must be about to do this as well. We muttered in agreement. This was foreseen and foreknown.
We would all have our treasure at once, more or less, as the sun allowed.
We sat again for just a few more minutes in a circle around the Treasure and let it seep into us again.
All at once, we knew that something had happened we couldn't quite understand.
We walked back down from the hilltops and turned one last time to watch the wind take away the last of the smoke up towards the moon.
There are always new treasures.
There are always new treasures.