It is twilight. I spin my body and as I turn I observe. My physical being moves with concise caution, like the rational needle of a compass. I feel the solid ground below my feet as I gently niche west. Or is it east? I forget for a moment where I am and remind myself to remember.
My left eye squints, revealing a fractured and dim view; my right sharpens to gaze upon the horizon. I attempt to split my perception in two; I try to be here and there, all-at-once.
I murmur softly beneath my breath while translating and resonating the sensitive light waves. The field before me gives way to diminishing ochre and peaches tainted by flickers. I want to measure the time under my breath as the vista unfolds in my mind. I endeavor to count the seconds, the mili-seconds to and from now but I lose my grasp as soon as the sound slips from my lips.
I check-in with my experience, confused by the illusionary sensation of the reflective sky. 42 degrees north-east. The mountain top is covered with snow.
The zig-zag will take me around, behind, in-front and beyond. I come back to my seeing. The ashes and charcoal are closing in; departure is imminent.
I capture this moment, imprinting it to compare with the day after next. I take a reading. Reluctantly, I return my focus to the path. I can learn no more on my own. I sweep, withdrawn, along and across. I feel the movement of my physical being without asking. I negate my vision through the blurring; the crystalline sharpens yet falters. On and off. I continue, but I forget in which direction. I lead into and out, around, above and below. It is all-surrounding — enclosed, yet open; it is perceived and withdrawn, all-parametered into one.
Immediately, I halter my advance. The frost seeps into the pores of my skin from within and without, cycling into my stationary being. I witness, yet I do not understand. On the horizon. A figure. It punctures an advancing hole in my visibility.
A being. An other.