The crystals had a way of enchanting your dreams, to take what was good and make it somewhere beyond amazing. There was an aura about them, a calmness that inspired a steady creativity that felt the same as a playful dance.
The crystal had become a perfect tree. The geometric shards expanded in all directions, and to Sonny it was as if he had been invited into the heart of a snowflake, feeling so small and so very grand all at once.
The crystal could be a perfect black face, the sort of blackness that brings memories of perfect starlit nights; yet it could also reflect the light with such vibrancy as to remind one of the stars too, of that moment when a flash of light dares to come through the clouds and show the way home.
The crystal had grown as something alive may do, growing in a pool of minerals over the ages. As such it became as a rainbow sea made of perfect rock, the shoreline ever present and still, as if it were a photograph of flowing colours. I could have watched it all day, captivated in that frozen moment that took longer than generations to form.
The crystal glowed as if it welcomed the light in some embrace more than took it though so passively. The colours that shone in the brilliant light of day were a richness only nature can bring, a different sort of glow than the golden pools of streetlights. It was somehow more than light and molecules in that moment, as if together they were something greater than either could ever be alone.
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