From Israfel Sivads short story collection Notes from the Idle Mind.

It began once upon a time

The young man, a boy really, was sitting on a hill looking out over his fathers fields. His neighbors reaped their crops. The wind ran her hand through his hair and cupped her palm about his face. She picked at the strands of grass sticking to his hands. She lifted his head up so that he could stare at the distant horizon of trees beyond the villages farms.

From out of that mesh of foliage, the...