How Do Two Lines Diverge? Or When Do They Convene Again?
Fearing a dissonance between memory and experience, I had no choice but to tread forward, unassured yet unlocked, drifting away in a pyre of smoke. How do two lines diverge? I walked down a dirt road long forgotten, aglow in a midsummer’s flare, under the pressure of a lazuli sky, buoyed, and weighted, by a feeling that nothing happens twice, no feeling felt again or again. An ermine scuttled in the undergrowth lining the path, its brown stripes pointing onward. I stopped, affixed by its gaze, and beckoned for it to come towards me, but it disappeared, swallowed by the long grass stems, as if aware of something unseen. I followed it further and further, deep into a forest unknown and unkempt, all the while knowing it drives my motives away from their origin. It thinks I hunt it, a chase through the wood. It stopped in a glen bleached by constant exposure, turning back towards me, a statuesque gaze in its beady black eyes. It’s at this moment I question the going and the coming, whether my actions occur in a vacuum, or whether they are imitations of a myriad of others, living in an unwrit mythology expanding on and on. To see into the future. What do they call it, a blank window? A blind window? Or maybe it was a blind widow..... View the full story by Dawson Batchelder on the theme of Hope on the Villa La Pietra website.
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