Bridging A Gap

Day Two: A Room with a View

[Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?]

It’s was a dream bridge. He knew it. The coldness of the rock of the canyon wall, where he sat, seeped into his bones, slithered down his back, kept him anchored to that one small peace of reality. It was enough.

The pathway rose up before him, and silver light, a moon glow, shimmered across it, growing narrow, like paintings often do, until it becomes a single point, a blur. He looked down, saw his bare feet step onto the span, disappear into a mist, yet he felt the solid surface. Another step took him further, as he raised his eyes, searching the far end.

Whispers of eons of travelers called to him. The roadway held the wisdom of the Elders, those who had gone before, who traversed this path into eternity. The sound, like the rustling of leaves on a tree, frisked by a wayward wind, were only echoes, soft and wispy.

Glancing briefly back, he noted that the way was obscured by a billowing fog. Turning slowly back toward his future, he saw dark brooding mountains, massive stantions that spoke of beginnings, of the forming of the Earth, of its evolution. Momentarily he wondered what dinosaurs claimed this territory.

The walk seemed endless, his sense of making no progress, distracting. The light of Sister Moon faded until he was swallowed by darkness. He became aware of stepping upon soil, moist and less substantial. An earthy scent infused his senses. He stopped and breathed deeply. Clean, fresh, different. Looking back, the bridge was no longer apparent, but he did not fear this. The point was to continue moving forward.

As he turned to resume the journey, he was certain that the light was returning, as if the day was dawning. The song of birds filled the air, joined by the sounds of crickets and bees, zooming past, on errands that only a new day brings. Lighter still, the forest in which he padded upon the soft bed of leaves, grew clearer, richer, lush greens that brought a smile to his lips.

“What are you waiting for?” The voice was gruff. Jesse searched to find its owner. “You took your time.”  He stared at a man, his face lined with age, brown leathery skin, long gray hair hanging down past his shoulders, kept out of his face with a bandana that played across his forehead, and was tied behind at the back. He wore an old blue work shirt, sloppily tucked in to khaki slacks which had seen years of use. “Time will not stand still just because you do,” the old man said.

Starting back up the trail, Jesse caught up, took a bag which was pushed at him, and slung it over his shoulder. He wanted to ask where he was, but was relutant to speak unless spoken to.

The man stopped, reaching for a yellow flower, one of many which lined the path. “See, this is what we need.” He plucked it off its stem, and opened his palm to show it, then dropped it into a basket he carried. Jesse nodded, and followed his guide. The bag and basket were both stuffed full with several varieties of plant leaves and stems, and flowers.

As they moved, picking, and dropping their bounty into the respective pouches, Jesse noted that the way had widened. The voices of children at play began to mingle with the chattering of the winged ones, and the raucous screech of monkeys which scampered up the trunks of trees, and swung between the branches, like agile acrobats. The sun was filtering down to the ground, its warmth eeking the last bit of chill from Jesse’s body.

A village lay ahead, as they stepped into a clearing. The byways were earthen and grassy, running fully through, between polished dry-stone wall structures, toward the edge of a mountain upon which it was built. Adults were busy tending the day’s work. The laughter of the children was carried upon the breezes which washed down from the peaks. Upon seeing the old one appear from the forest, they swarmed toward him, hands held up in a begging gesture. Their voices chorused a chant Jesse did not understand. A smile appeared on the aged face, as he pulled berries from one of his many pockets, plopping pieces into eager hands. No sooner had they appeared, when they turned enmasse, appeased by the gifts, returning to their games.

The two walked on, silence almost welcome. Jesse knew this was about observing, seeking knowledge, and understanding what messages would come from this quest. Just beyond the main part of the village propper, they stepped around a corner which led down a quiet road. At the end, in another clearing, they continued across toward a lone hut, with a thatched roof. It was a wooden structure, with windows on either side of a doorway.

Inside, Jesse was instructed to place his bag on a table in the center of a sparsely furnished room. The old man deposited his own collection as well. He pointed to a fireplace. “Stoke that up.” Then he set about separating what had been gathered.
A cauldron with water in it, hung above the flames, and Jesse joined his host at the table.

They were sitting across from each other, each on a bench. Many minutes passed, and tea was prepared, two earthen cups filled with steaming liquid. Jesse sipped from his cup, and watched as the piles became orderly. “What is this place?”

“My home.”

Jesse closed his eyes for a moment, seeking to ease away from his frustration. “This village, I mean.”

“A place to which you were called.”

The elder looked at the young man. Their gaze held each other. “Who are you?”

There was a long pause. The eyes in the ancient face showed a tinge of amusement. “You do not recognize yourself.”

Jesse sought to remain observant, to push away that inner voice which mocked, and questioned this vision.

“One day you will look in the mirror and see this face looking back at you.”

His heart beat faster, and Jesse felt a stirring, a yearning to run. He remained steadfast.

“If you stay on course, you will grow to become who you were meant to be, who you were born to be.”

Silence.

“For now, all is done.”

His eyes fluttered open, and a cold wind buffeted him. The canyon was poised betwix and between yesterday and this new day. Jesse sat, seeking to retain the images. Finally, pulling out a book, he wrote down what had transpired.

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22 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. calensariel
    Apr 07, 2015 @ 18:29:41

    Gawd! That was TOTALLY awesome. (I think I need to quit taking these things so literally.) You are such an amazing writer. Your imagination just doesn’t quit ever. Thank you, Fim, for showing us how it is done! Your piece and PG’s piece are the best I’ve read all day. Loved it!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  2. Donatella
    Apr 07, 2015 @ 18:33:44

    i really like this! Check out my blog and tell me what you think
    https://shamelesslyaddictedtocaffeine.wordpress.com/2015/04/07/journal-5-inside-my-mind/

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  3. platosgroove
    Apr 07, 2015 @ 18:50:49

    I commented on the other one. Will it show up here?

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  4. Faraday's Candle
    Apr 07, 2015 @ 20:02:40

    You are an amazing writer both in your posts and comments. Wonderful imagination!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  5. ivaberanek
    Apr 08, 2015 @ 08:03:33

    Very good read, I totally enjoyed it. I started reading it last night, but being too tired and forgetting what I read just a minute ago, I decided to come back today – I am glad I did! Looking forward to reading your next assignments. And thanks a lot for reading mine!

    Like

    Reply

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