Event Horizon

It’s true that he sat in the folding chair, immobile for hours, days

perhaps, in the backyard. It didn’t take long for the blue green

moss to appear on his pant legs, with their deep creases

and striations, their constellations of scars, like tree bark, one is almost

tempted to say. The birds hid twigs in his beard for future use, little

pieces of string, once a twist tie even. Complicit, he cast his gaze

over their heads, over the ridge too, anchored it somewhere in the

distant hills, in the pools of black ink where the treeline

disintegrates. His hands, folded on his lap, are a loaf of bread,

petrified, a stone thrown long ago, already retrieved, except for

their veins, purple with age. The tide that once rushed up to kiss

his toes has long since receded, exposing the trash along the banks,

the broken hulls, half buried. If you listen closely, very closely, you

can hear his breathing, tiny engines purring, the very smallest,

preparing for takeoff, one last time.

Soure: Elven Hungry Cats, written and illustrated by Noboru Baba