The tale to be told took place light years ago. At the same time this love took hold years, and many turns into the distant future. It plays out in the past and in the future endlessly…over and over…through all eternity. For this was the power of the love of Tristan and Isolde.

The facts are not clear, nobody knows the truth; that is if there is a truth to be known. What is known is their love could be seen…visually…in the night sky, and in the early morning mist. Hushed whispers at these strange apparitions – blinding light twisting, falling and turning while adopting different forms, as mothers took their daughters by the shoulders guiding them to the safety of warmth and shelter. Fathers beckoned to their sons…away. For it was not to be, it could never be…ever.

Nobody knows where they were then, where they are now and where they will be. If in fact they were, are and will be anywhere. What is known is they were from different worlds, and different times. Separated forever by the cosmos of eternal time and infinite worlds. Streaking meteors and endless space made passage impossible. Seemingly. Yet the impossible, the unthinkable, the intolerable happened. There was contact; and then instantly they were torn apart… forever. So it was thought!

The story that is known…the story repeated most often goes like this: Tristan and Isolde were locked apart in different worlds, in different lives, in different ages. Though Tristan eventually married Genevieve – the marriage was never consummated; for he could never forget his time with Isolde. She was with him constantly, every minute, every second of every day. He was dying he knew. His love was killing him. In his desperation he contacted the rainbow Iris, goddess and messenger of the sea and sky and asked her to go for Isolde. Iris would go for her, and return with her - if she agreed to come - on air-borne ships.

Tristan asked…told Iris, black is the color, if she cannot or will not come. Black will be the color of your sails. White is the color…of purity and light. Light is the color of your sails if she is with you on the return. Iris went off at light speed. The strange ships passing untouched through countless years and generations as the tips of the sails finally disappeared from his sight. And he waited.

As Tristan waited with wringing hands, Genevieve watched the horizon. It was then she saw the tips of white sails. Immediately she went to Tristan with the words, “black they are.” Tristan looked up vacantly, his eyes lost all meaning as his heart exploded. Strange black birds flew up en masse from the remnants of his heart. Onboard, Iris felt the impact in the pit of her stomach, and turned to Isolde with tears in her eyes. Moments later a white form could be seen falling from an air-borne ship.

It has been said she can be seen falling. At dust or dawn - still falling - endlessly. She will be forever falling. Forever she will be surrounded, covered by a mass of strange and beautiful black birds.

This is what is seen at times in quiet moments; in the early morning mist and in the night sky…a white figure… a white light surrounded by a mass of strange black birds endlessly falling and turning round and round...together... finally together. Forever.