Reflecting On Time

Here on the Inside it gets so quiet. I hope he’s ready to utilize this solitary life for the next few months. Me, I am ready to step Out.

I’ve gotten to a point in the novel writing that I’m sure he’ll be able to bring his new experiences into, and take it to the places only he can.

Nobody ever wanders up here. The mailbox is just down the road and the larder is full. Wood for the fireplace and a fan if the temperatures rise. The basic needs.

The sky had maintained shades of dark grey for the past three days straight. The downpour continued through the night, steadily pounding the roof.
The radio is nonstop flood warnings—like every October and April, followed by weeks of mud time.

The road was flooded after the first day, and now even the fields in all directions are unable to absorb the endless deluge.

No basement, the cabin sits firmly on cinder blocks—still way above the surface of what now looks like a lake in all directions. It usually levels off somewhere between the second and third of the six front door steps.
The only other things above the water surface are the trees, the mailbox down the road, and the one huge boulder near the fence.

Today, finally, the rains came to an end—the water still, mirroring the sky.

I put on my tall rubber boots The water is ankle-deep wherever I go. I slosh my way over and sit down on the rock.

And there he is, conjured from the other side—exactly as expected. I glance at him briefly before being distracted by a small patch of blue sky overhead. Perhaps the sun might even break through today. Our time is limited.

We met many years ago — neither of us can any longer remember how many, or if it was autumn or spring.
There was The Proposition, and there were the fears and questions which kept us from taking the leap for quite a while. One spring, in that same spot, we discussed it yet again and by the following October we went ahead.
We don’t recall anymore which side which one started at.

We are here for our twice a year rendezvous. We step carefully, our soles align. We look at each other.

What you see here—this house, that typewriter, and the crazy weather—is all there is on this side.
Where he stands now there are squirrels and cellphones and sex and wars and books and operas and Time. And luckily enough rain to create these portals.

The magic happens when we both simultaneously can no longer determine who is looking up and who down.

A wisp of wind ripples both sides of the reflection.

© AleXander Hirka 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Read RemingtonWrite’s version here:

In August 2020, I set myself the challenge of creating a daily digital collage based on an image and a concept. The image was that of the antique Omega watch that belonged to my Mom and the concept was Time.
In September 2020, the
Anomalous Duo is challenging themselves to write a short piece of fiction for each collage — the Our Hours project.

Writer, visual artist, philosopher, autodidact, curmudgeon. More than half of what i do is make believe.

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