mending the cycle
I had torn down a piece of the fence and carried it with me ever since, hoping that it would serve as a compass. That it
would eventually point me in the right direction as I kept looking for other pieces that could help me make sense of
the chaos.
At times I would take it out and hold it up and look at the world and its people through it, hoping to see if anything
changed or if the people would look any different, that something would emerge and part this sea of confusion and
reveal a shining path free of obstacles.
So far it had revealed nothing.
I was still trapped in the middle of the herd. Pushed forward by the masses without the strength to break free I had
ended up in a job that I didn ́t want and sent to a place where I did not want to be.
As summer drew nearer people started returning to the little town in the mountains and for a few hours during the weekends it felt as if they had never left.
I forced myself to return to the house that I had rented, convincing myself that the things I avoided might be the pieces I was missing, that these were the next few steps on my path.
So I greeted the people whenever I saw them, sought them out at the pub and engaged them in conversation to share
my new found knowledge of this place, receiving the names of places and people I did not know in return.
Some would walk the hills and go further into the highlands than I had ever been, telling me of places I had yet to visit
upon their return.
There were undisturbed forests and pristine lakes in there they said, there were reindeer herds and the people who followed them and there were rivers that ran down different valleys than the ones that I knew, heading towards different shores than the one I had followed here.
I liked listening to their stories, trying to picture the places they told of, holding on to every detail and remembering every one of their tales afterwards. Only to realise that they barely feigned an interest in mine.
I would take out the compass again and look at them, to assess the pieces they laid out before me, to see if there were clues hiding in the open.
But I could not see any and I withdrew from them as I understood that there were no more pieces to be found in my attempt at becoming a part of their world and I started
avoiding them again as best as I could.
I would head up to the house on the hill and sit there for hours, looking down at the town and the people that aimlessly stumbled around down there, telling myself that I should go back to the forests where I could nurture my solitude and convince myself that there were nothing more
to find within the dominion of men.
I watched them as they carried pallets and last years Christmas trees and whatever rubble they could find down to the beach where they stacked them up as high as they
could before setting it all on fire on midsummers eve.
As it burnt I sat there by the house on the hill looking down on the people and the ritualistic bonfire that had been given new meaning with the changing doctrines of the world, slowly disappearing into my own sphere when an unfamiliar voice broke the silence.
«Should ́nt you be down there celebrating with them?» it said and I turned towards the sound of the voice and saw an old man sitting on the steps that lead up to the main entrance.
«I dont belong down there with them» I said without checking if it was the right answer first.
«Yeah, me neither» he said as he came over and sat down on the bench with me.
«You are not from around here are you», he continued, both stating and asking at the same time, while giving me a peculiar look as he turned his head to the side, gleaming at me through bushy eyebrows and a well kept grey beard.
«I’m not from anywhere really» I wanted to say, admitting for the first time in a very long while to anybody, myself included, that I was a stranger here as I would have been
anywhere else in the world. But all I managed to do was to shake my head.
«I was born here, he said, but I haven’t always felt that I belonged, even though my kin have roamed these hills for centuries».
«Did you work down there?» I said, nodding towards the mines.
«No, never, I hated them when they were sunk and I don’t much care for them now even though they have been shut down for a long time.»
«They say they might open up again, if the prices keep rising.»
«So they say.»
I had two bottles of wine with me and held one up, offering it to him, he nodded in acceptance and pulled out a piece of cheese and some salted meat from his pack, both wrapped in brown waxed paper.
We sat there for a while, eating and drinking in silence while the fire down by the lake flickered and died out as the people retreated each to their own.
«Do they even know what they are celebrating» I asked him quietly.
«No, he replied, I dont think they do».
