Death: an Allegory
Our sandals stirred up puffs of tan dust as we started on down the dirt road, walking side by side under the blue and white heat of the summer sky. The brush lining our path buzzed with the sounds of ten thousand winged neighbors exchanging the morning news. After a short time we turned left to enter the meadow, wetting our feet with the remnants of last night’s dew. I turned to my friend and smiled. The lemonade sunlight painted our faces while we hiked up the gentle hill.
By the time we finished our lunch the clouds seemed to become firm, like blocks of granite sliding across a great pale dome. The fields were crisper to our touch as we loped up a steep hill and approached a canopy of pine and birch trees. We walked toward the forest, our conversation interrupted by a pocket of cold air that hit us then quickly dissolved. Our shadows turned on and off underneath the columns of clouds marching over us. My only sensation was that of a hand entwined in mine.
The morning’s sweat was long dried when we finally reached the other side of the woods. We stepped carefully over a giant quilt of brown leaves and black branches, filling the hollow silence with the cracks of our footsteps. Beyond the skeletal trees we saw a broad valley. The sky was clear now as we started down the gray path, and the sun hung weakly above the distant hills. I became lost in my own thoughts.
A wall of wind now flung itself across the hillside. My ears were pinched with cold, and I pulled my hat lower. I was very close to the bottom and could hear the river just beyond the next tangled clump of bushes. Suddenly I realized I was alone. I scanned the horizon and saw my friend far above me, standing on a jutting rock. No matter how loud I cried, my voice was just the rustling of leaves. No matter how hard I ran, my feet stayed rooted into the earth. I took one last look at the face in the distance and felt the sobs of time shaking within me, then stretched toward the sky, filled with a mysterious glory of the coming night.
