Springtide dawned heavy with clouds, which was encouraging to nobody. Indeed, everyone in town was apprehensive as they went through the day. Oh, it wasn’t ominous as such – not yet. But the leaden skies didn’t bode well for the clear, starry night that everyone hoped for.

The old seer always said that the stars told about what was, not what would be; that the only way anyone, even he, could predict the future was in light of the present. And sometimes, people tried to encourage themselves with that. Even the gloomiest of visions did not mean that the future would stay so dark.

But the world didn’t change overnight, did it?

All through the day, that looming apprehension grew longer. People looked back over the past year, and saw more and more things that had gone ill in the world. Maybe things truly were doing badly, and that was why the sky was so dark? The few voices saying to wait for nighttime, to not read the visions before they were seen, were faint, as though having difficulty convincing even themselves. Too, little things seemed to keep going wrong with the preparations for the evening’s ceremonies; cuts here, scorched food there, all looming large under the rolling clouds.

As the sun began to sink, though, the wind stirred into activity, a brisk breeze tugging the clouds apart from one another and drawing them into wispy streamers, and long shadows at last spilled over the stone as the crowds were gathering for the evening.

For the first time all day, spirits were high. For all the little slips that had marked the cooking, the finished meal was quite fine and very well-received. By the time the sky was truly starting to darken, bellies were full and everyone was content.

Those who were close enough to glimpse the seer making his way to his perch leaned out of the crowds a little, craning their necks to watch as the old man sat with his scrolls and his bowl of incense. He stared up at the sky for some time, breathing in the smoke, watching as the stars started to come into view, scattered all around the half moon.

Most were not privy to the words he spoke to the headman. But all knew soon enough the overall message, when the headman came out of his hut and told them all to celebrate; for a wealth of stars looked down upon them, holding the darkness at bay, and the moon, too, was growing stronger. Looking on the Springtide sky as a symbol of light and darkness at large, the world was rather well off.

So, in spite of the day’s uncertain start, the celebration went well on into the night, even until the next day dawned; for all the troubles that faced them were like the wispy clouds that had scudded across the seer’s vision – small, ephemeral things that were gone in moments.

Life, as they’d known already beneath that swell of apprehension, was good.