The Room of Mehr

The long folds of the curtain stir, the rustle of the folds playing with the wind winds through the silent room. The delicate waterfall of sunlight, from under the hem of the curtain has leapt out, rolls across the carpet. The thornless buds on the carpet's pattern, tickled by the bright morning light have turned red, they laugh... The sweet breeze of Mehr has drawn near, after all the burning weeks of Tir... The earth turns...