Borne on sacred scents, my development is complete. Now, incarnated in astral form, I hover over the occidental shore of the earth’s most populous continent.
I brace myself for the coming cacophony. My throat fills, and at Gaia’s command, I throw back my head and let fly the discordant melody that holds the power to move mountains: an unstoppable force, unleashed from the fragile firmament to the barely broken azure below.
Waves of disharmony filter through the air, a hideous marriage of chords of doom and pitches of despair.
The earth’s crust shatters
sulphurous strings billow forth:
Mount Teide tumbles.
Image credit: Clive Kim on Pexels.com
Written in response to two challenges: