From his wicker throne, safe from sight, within the rustling corn field he did rest in thought. The stalks had grown to lofty heights and the ears were swelling with their abundant harvest. The world was fertile, the crops ripe with health, and a kindly smile did stretch across his wrinkled face. Brushing the wispy silver hair from his face, he leaned back to enjoy the peace of his creations.

From the vineyards to the orchards had he wandered. And he was weary of his toils, to rest was an odd luxury. He had wiped the taint of blight from the fruit encumbered branches returning health with his slight touch and tied the grape vines to their wooden supports to bring them strength. His deep voice lowered to a mere whisper he had coaxed their continued growth.

Unseen except by the innocent eyes of newborns, he had overseen births. From the lambs of the farms to the fawns of the woodlands and to the brightly lit chambers of the mortal ones, he had watched and coaxed the struggle of becoming. Midwives prayed through the anguished screams of woman struggling to draw from their loins life renewed. Prayers of hope and reassurance that He of the tides of life would not forsake them now. Promises that tears of joy would follow each scream of pain with the babe nestled to bosom.

And He listened always and watched. And with an ancient knowing whispered to the child urging it down the canal towards the light and breath. As it had always been. He oversaw the struggle and if the mortal broke from the strain with mercy did he blow out the flame of life like a taper and set the spirit free from the counted agonies. And to the child he always did smile, for in that first moment of living did they see him and pay homage to his dedication.

A soft rustling and a melodic giggle drew his attention back to his present locale. A waif like Satyr, with glimmering eyes was before him handing him his crown of woven grape leaves and white ribbons.

"A wedding Old One! Come see!", the creature gushed.

Rising slowly he placed the crown upon his regal head and adjusted his pristine robes of white. With an all knowing smile he nodded and placed a finger in the outstretched hand of the woodland jester and allowed himself to be led away to witness the union that would culminate if fruitful in new life. A cycle with no beginning and no end, he grinned as he slipped through the stalks. So it had been, so it will be again.