Untitled (a tale of ephemerality)

A man visits a house as the seasons change.

‘Do you do that often?’ she asked with curiosity.

‘Well, not really that often, actually,’ I answered, ‘I like to think that it helps me concentrate, or sort out my thoughts and clear my head… things like that, you know? But, to be honest, I’m not really good at it. My thoughts still wander in every possible direction all the time.’

‘Can you teach me?’ she asked, disregarding my last remark.

She had been standing behind me on the wooden platform in front of the house all this time. A gentle breeze was blowing, but it was fairly warm for the time of the year, which made it a pleasant day to be outside.

‘Sure,’ I said, ‘come, sit down.’

She stepped out into the grass where I was sitting and did as I had said.

‘Okay,’ I continued, ‘now, sit in a comfortable position and close your eyes. Try to think of nothing at all, or, if that’s difficult, concentrate on a single thought. If you don’t know what to think of, try to imagine a point in the middle of a vast empty space. Focus your mind on that point.’

‘And then?’ she asked.

‘That’s it,’ I said.

She opened her eyes and laughed. ‘That’s it? Well, I guess I can do that. Let me give it a try!’

She closed her eyes again and so did I, and there we sat quietly in the grass among the blossoming trees of spring that were planted in a clearing in the forest where the house was standing. The wind whispered through the trees and took the petals of some of the blossoms that were already nearing the end of their short and fleeting lifespan with it on its journey. Dancing along on the breeze, the petals slowly made their way towards the ground, where they softly landed like snowflakes on the grass and on the house behind us.

 

I felt at ease during those peaceful and pleasant days at the house in the forest. But days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, springtime had passed and I had left. The blossoms on the trees were gone and green leaves had taken their place, and when summer came I visited the house again. She was there again as well. We talked and laughed, I taught her things and, in turn, she taught me much of what I know now. Time passed quickly, maybe more quickly than it should, and once again I had to leave. But again the days went by, as did the weeks and the months. And, like the spring, the summer passed and I visited the house again during autumn. The green leaves had turned yellow and red and looked like the backdrop of a dream in the light of the setting sun filtering through the trees. I knew that once again she would also be there, and I was right. Just like the previous times we talked and laughed, but after a while she told me that it was time for her to go. I protested and tried to change her mind, but she smiled gently and said it was not her choice. In the end, I, too, had to leave once more and while I left, the red and yellow leaves dropped from the trees and winter fell over the forest.

 

I returned there one last time. It was winter and the light of the bleak sun did not feel warm. The trees had lost all their leaves a long time ago and were standing gaunt and bare in the forest. As I approached the house it started to snow. I remembered the falling petals during spring that had seemed like snow at the time and the fleeting beauty of the blossoms on the trees. I stood there for a while, lost in thought; then I turned around and walked away like a shadow behind a white curtain. Behind me, the snowflakes gently descended on the empty house.