Battle Mediation II

If you asked me what the sun looked like on that morning, I would not be able to conjure my memory. I do remember watching that sunrise, writing about it on my scraproll of paper; my name and three words, ‘Today is Here’ I etched into the dock I was sitting on. For more substance, I guess. I remember the hoarse honking of the geese, throwing in their towels again, leaving us poor mortals to the cold, dark confusion of winter. Or at least, it had been that way for us.

We shunned each season; were never satisfied with what the dawn brought. We were never in love. Never in hope or humor. Our machinery had done this to us. Devices had become so small and portable we never put them down. These methodically excised our emotions until even children were hard pressed to cry. If it was still within us to feel, we didn’t know it. Most of us, anyway.

The din of a thousand geese surrounded my ears, the sound of the Seraphim leaving us behind. Laughing on high at our folly.

It was not simply their usual flight, this time. I realized this incessant herald signaled a final leaving.  I can tell you what the sun did not look like when parallel, obsidian clouds began to cross it out. For a time before this, our race had come to understand why we must care for the space around us. But, frustrated with the whims of nature, we broke our viny bonds time and again with arrogant brain power and determination. Each time, we wondered at our agony.  “Today is Here”.

I spoke aloud, now, to the clearest of waters under my feet. A bravely solid fog had been pretending it might rain all along, but was receding into a heavy inkstamp against the treeline. One of the last. Nothing much still lived here, in the waters or otherwise. The colours of Autumn had multiplied over generations of variegated pollution and some leaves seemed to glow with the neon of my youth. I glanced at my canoe. Coming here had been a stopover for sleep on a long supplies run. Two others were with me, camping somewhere within my radius. We had been shocked to see one cabin still standing, however skeletally. We covered the holes in the walls and hid our food inside. The polar grizzlies could be about as late as December, hibernation becoming obsolete in these warming days.

I could hear the sonerant bombing and shooting in the distance. Though it had not reached this place, yet, it was continuous and its overwhelming vibrations rippled the water. The water never rested anymore.  We had become nomadic just five years before this day, taking to our feet and to the water, running for our lives from the ever expanding despair of civilization. 


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