I live in a small hamlet. We are positioned amidst a little bit of everything: Green rolling hills: Pine forests: some hiking trails. All of which I take great pleasure in exploring and wandering. You never know what you might find. A new brook, which beavers are bustling to dam up, a great tree that all kinds of animals make their roosts in, or perhaps an old abandoned log cabin whose people and story have long ago been forgotten. However, one must also ensure to take great care as there is also danger out there.
It is one of these wanderings that brought about my tale today. Perhaps my most mysterious and heartbreaking discovery, I suppose (though you may judge differently). Not far south of the hamlet is a cliff that is positioned above a beach, which one can make their way down to (though great care should be taken in the process). I took to wander in that direction on a previous expedition and I had noticed a new cove that had been separated by the water and cliff line. I wanted to make my way down to it on this day.
I arrived to the edge of the cliff with no events of unusual report, though the sun was spreading its golden life giving beams, and I did enjoy the singing of birds and the chattering of squirrels, as they chased each other from tree to tree. I even dropped a few nuts on the trail for them to find. Anyways, I arrived to the top of the cliff and with great care and precision attempted to make my way down to the cove. At first glance it seemed rather difficult, I managed rather well (I have plenty of experience even earning the moniker 'the human goat' at one point in my illustrious exploring career).
I arrived down at the base of the cliff. Now, it is important that I mention here the change in atmosphere. Yes, it was naturally cooler being closer to the water, but it was more than that. The birds and squirrels seemed to have stopped their sound. Rather, it was like their sound was the drink pouring forth from a mead barrel and someone had stopped it up. The sun, too, seemed to be only casting shadows here, rather than spreading joy.
The beach itself was not a sandy, soft one, but a rocky one. One with uneven large stones mixed with stony pebbles. The kind, which if one was not careful, could easily twist an ankle, or fall and smash a knee. The rocks all seemed to be damp and slick, as well. The cove was rather small, not more than twenty feet at the mouth of the beach and receded back to about 15 feet from the shoreline in a giant U shape. Not a spot of green or living plant could be seen, save for what appeared to be a tree. It started at the waters edge and seemed to stretch out a fair distance over the water. Naturally, I headed that way (I am delighted with growing things--they fascinate me and bring me great joy).
It was on my way there, when I nearly tripped over what I assumed to be a greater boulder. I was approaching the beach front and stepping right close to it, when it suddenly shifted and that startled me greatly. I lost my footing and fell smacking my knee solidly in the process.
I looked harder at the "boulder", but perceived it to be a person. "Pardon me." I began, but I never finished. For this man was so somber and despairing, that I felt the words choked out of me.
Most of us have been to a party where all things are fun and festive, much rejoicing and all around enjoyment is happening, but then enters someone, in perhaps, some sort of a mood and that party's atmosphere is changed. The light airiness that once ruled is now put under submission to the one party goer, or the anti-partier as I call them (sometimes they have good reason, and some care and love may need to be shown, but other times they may need to be stuffed into a backroom until they come to their senses).
Here, this seemed to be the anti-partier of nature. His own mood seemed to have brought down the natural celebratory state, that I had already experienced traversing here today.
He was a small man (probably smaller than you are thinking). Clothed in what once appeared to be a fashionable coat with tails and trousers. Their original colour, I could not say, for now they were crusted and smattered with mud of a dull grey, which matched the stones on the beach (which is why I almost tripped on him). His hair appeared grey in colour and sparsely adorned his head, but thick and full sideburns descended to be level with his chin. The rest of his face was bald save for his eyebrows, which rivaled his sideburns for thickness.
He sat rather morosely (having not yet acknowledged me, either because he didn't realize I was there or did not care enough to break his somber state). His knees were drawn up to his chest. He was clutching them to himself, arms around them, and in his hands he held a hat (once top though only the brim and about an inch of hat was left). Either hand held firmly on to the brim.
He was still. Head up and staring either at the tree, which I had been making my way towards, or an invisible point beyond.
After gathering all this, I once again again tried to speak with the intention of saying, "Pardon me, sir I didn't see you there." But once again as I went to speak, I found I could not. This time the reason being that grief washed over me. The grief that only comes from losing a loved one. Fresh and new it was to me, and though not fully understanding why, I sat down beside the man and wept, and wept. For the pain of it, or for the man, to this day, I cannot fully say. Though certain am I, that in that moment, I felt his grief and pain. What he had to endure every day of his existence. That which had made me weep so mercilessly, had over time hollowed him out till the mediocrity of constant tears had dried him out. Now he sat so used to pain, that life, any other way, seemed a fantasy or a fairy-tale.
I wept for sometime. He sat as still as stone. As I felt my tears begin to dry, I found that he was looking at me. Still somber in expression, but I saw his eyes. They were blue, and they spoke of the wonder and life in which he used to live. He placed his one hand on my shoulder, and with the other put what remained of his hat on his head, and pointed to the tree and in a most pitiful and pleading voice said one word "Life".
He stood up, and I followed. We walked to that tree. The tree itself, I now saw, was almost completely horizontal, stretching out over the water 15 feet. I perceived then, that likely the sun never shone on that cove, too tall the cliffs were. So this tree had stretched itself out over the surface of the water, in hopes of catching the light of the sun. After we reached the base of the tree, the man scurried across it's trunk, on all fours (much like a squirrel), and arriving at the end, he stretched out his arm reaching, as if, for the other side of the lake.
Now the lake is indeed a great lake, deep and long in width. I, even, have not yet traversed across it (not for lack of trying, though that is a tale for a different time).
And I only can imagine, what lay across that lake for him. If that is where he came from, or what now had held him here in this cove for years unknown, or if even he, himself, remembered.
But he repeated the process of scurrying from shore to end of tree, again and again. Every return to shore saying that most destitute and pitiable word, "Life", in an almost childlike way. "Life?" He sounded more desperate and despairing with every repetition. He seemed to stretch out farther and farther each time, till I was worried he might topple in. It was at this point, he came back to land, but this time he walked right past me, his eyes once again unseeing. He returned to sit in the same spot and posture, which I first found him in.
As for me, I left. I climbed out of the cove. Some might criticize me for leaving him there, and I do myself, at times, but I was in such a state of destitution and pity, and muted by a grief that, though it was not mine, felt like all of reality. I just left. And on the way home, I wept again, but this time for joy and healing. For upon climbing out and walking, I found that indeed the birds still sang, squirrels played, and the sun still shone it's radiant, life giving, way.
I would return again the next day, after logic entered and emotions cleared, with the intention of freeing him from that cove, but I couldn't find him. The cove hadn't changed, but he was gone, and the tree was the last reminder of him. It still stretched out over the waters, trying to reach the sun, as if in silence and desperation it pleaded "Life".
