Fiction By Paul Heidelberg
(c) Copyright Paul Heidelberg
(c) Copyright Paul Heidelberg
All Rights Reserved
...like giants plunged into the years, they touch epochs that are immensely far apart, separated by the slow accretion of many, many days -- in the dimension of Time.
From the last sentence of the last volume of REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST also known as IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME by Marcel Proust.
Zawoosh
Back. Back to the Plateau near Abo -- the place of the Ancient Peoples' Eagle Dance with Spirits.
New Mexico Poet: Well, here we are again.
San Francisco Poet: Here we are again.
New Mexico Poet: I don't see any Eagle Dancers this time. Maybe it's back to normal.
San Francisco Poet: Maybe.
After a pause, as the two stand silently in a warm breeze with billowing white clouds overhead, and as they admire the ancient landscape that surrounds them:
New Mexico Poet: Never forget all that we have witnessed, my friend.
San Francisco Poet: I won't.
New Mexico Poet: Remember what the Great Man of the Cretan Dances said.
San Francisco Poet: What was that?
New Mexico Poet: The only words on his grave marker, on a hill high above Iraklion, Crete. There is no mention of his name or the dates of his birth or passing. Only this:
I hope for nothing
I fear nothing
I am free
To Be Continued...
Photograph: "Still Life With Wild Flowers"
(c) Copyright Paul Heidelberg
All Rights Reserved
