97.1
Here begins the time of the Symphony of Wonder of the World.
97.2
And the world used to be more beautiful, more virginal, more immaculate, cleaner and more transparent, but it was a long time ago, and maybe even some say that it can no longer be true.
97.3
For the times before the beauty of the world was broken cannot return, and the image of those times is hidden from the Feofees in the Ulama'wänti Aldo'niyennë.
97.4
However, something much more complex, more interesting, also exquisite and overflowing with life and colors was being assembled step by step from those times, as if no one from Tildo, nor from other beings, knew about it.
97.5
At that time, when the powers of the world settled, after the imprisonment of Sïrdi, after the arrival of all the magnificent breeds, beings and Feofees, when all the powers appeared at once.
97.6
Then Loynalë wept endlessly, until the new lake was filled, and her tears were intoxicating with happiness.
97.7
And she said: "Look, hear, feel with hearts, ears, eyes, feel with hungry fingers, absorb what I see now, namely Ormalinda'lindu'mandiyë, as I say, like endless music in the splendor of colors, innumerable images, in the interweaving the singing of birds, the eternal song of the sea, the glimmers on calm lakes, the singing of mankind, the rumbling of the mountains and the ringing of the dwarf's sledgehammers. For it is the Arc-Consonant Interplay of Color-forms, Al'Wënan'lëwaninwa and Alümi'awëri! Those words cannot express what we should cherish now and forever, because the world is finished as Mirondë wanted it, perhaps only a few ornaments remain to be added. Then everyone will be able, if they want and are able to, to enjoy the moments of beauty that is around them, of which they are a part, and which will be here with them, even if they do not want to be a part of it. For as an apple and a rose ripen, from a worthless seed to a colorful, juicy fruit, so our world had to ripen through all the hard times, to the present splendor."
97.8
Here Feofees and deities saw what everyone can see without struggle, without effort, without money and without special contribution, they just have to learn this art, because it is not given to us by Mirondë.
97.9
It is the rising of the sun, when the morning greets the new, fresh rays of Fö and Slöynan, in the last veils of mist the sleepers awake, full of new hope, and the magic brushes paint multi-colored cascades of light, indistinct shades on the landscape and the clouds; also the light songs of the awake birds are slowly waking up.
97.10
Also, it is the sunset over the cliffs of the calm sea, when the clouds turn a deep red glow, and sometimes it turns into the colors of the rainbow, as if the day should be the last one. The gentle lapping of the waves, which never stops, is complemented by the seagulls with their joyful voice.
97.11
It is a moonlit midnight in the mountains, shrouded in white, where stone giants sleep their eternal dream quietly, roots deep in the earth but thoughts far among the stars; and a light breeze sings along the crags, while the night bird repeats its incantation sadly.
97.12
It is the hot midday of summer, blissful with the music of crickets and the hum of industrious bees, when all the colors of the world shine in full force, under the blue sky, and when a solitary buzzard whistles a warning against the deadly laziness of field mice, who already have burrows full of colorful grains.
97.13
It is the brooding concert of the afternoon rain, tirelessly playing the strings of the forest and resounding with the songs secretly played by the moss-covered stones, when the sleepy tree-hairs snuggle up in their burrows in respite.
97.14
May the beauty last forever!

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