Upon the Meeting of Silence

           I sat alone in the hollow one evening to lose myself in the sound of a trickling brook. I forgot about the troubles of life for a moment, watching the water spiders dance upon fluid crystalline, the sun’s rays weaving about glassy stones smoothed over time by the water’s eternal flowing. There was a profound sense of autumn in the crispness of the air. 

Though I detested the thought of returning to the less appealing confines of my home, I eventually found it four o’ clock, and started up the knoll to heed the call of my itinerary. Not long into my journey through the trees, I noticed something amiss in the peaceful wood-- A trodden rhythm, off beat from my own, alluded that my feet were not the only pair tromping through the discarded foliage. I stood in place so as to avoid muddying the sound of the curious march.

 As I listened, I knew with a great deal of certainty that the other body moving along the forest floor was not unlike that of my own. It moved in cut time, two elongated beats making up the measure of its gait. It was evident by the crescendo of crackling brush that the subject was growing near. On sound alone, it was impossible to determine whether this entity was approaching me purposefully, but the tempo of its footfall told me that it was in nothing of a great hurry. I stood in place to allow the source of the scrunching to cross my path on its own accord. 

From the knoll’s crest arose a dreadful sight, the likes of which I’ll not forget. My insides curled like paper on flame as the decrepit head and face of a woman . Her hair hung, dull and limp, in unkept tufts that framed her forsaken countenance. As she ventured ever nearer, I noted that she was visually aged, and donned none but the color gray. Not simply in clothing, but in complexion; In essence. She’d no acknowledgement, no particular way of being, but I knew for certain that she was there— walking, breathing, conscious. She was as close to Nothing as I’d seen a person be. Her dullen eyes met mine without expression as she continued toward me with inanimate conviction, her gaze fixed instinctively upon mine, as though she felt I’d have been expecting her. 

My chest felt as if it were bearing tremendous weight. Nothing about the woman appeared menacing; She was frail and weak, perhaps slightly malnourished. But her presence brought with it an air that froze my bones to the very core of their marrow. She brought upon the breathlessness of a great wind. I wanted nothing more than to retreat back to my spot in the moss by the babbling stream and watch tadpoles swim about, but I was stricken with the notion that our meeting here was imminent. I stood ambiently as she situated herself before me and drew to a halt. 

“And so, we meet again.” She implored. 

Her voice was brittle and throaty, like someone who’d long exhausted the capacity of their vocal chords. 

“I do not recall?” I inquired tenderly. 

“Naturally, you fail to recognize me- It is to be expected. I’ve not always looked like this. As a matter of fact, I’ve changed a lot over the years- but I’ve been around a while. I was there the day you came to be, just as I likely will on the day you cease to be. I’m not always there, but I’m there. Either way, I’m certain we’ve met. I’ve had hair all manners of shades; It was fire-engine red for several years. Perhaps that might jog your memory.” She stared a moment longer.

And then, all at once, I recognized her. How profound, that I grew to understand the wrinkles in her skin, the translucent glaze of her eyes, her familiar mannerisms, in a single instant. I recognized the way she carried herself; her hunched profile, her legato way of being. Without another thought, I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her fragile torso in a loving embrace.

She was cold; I held her until she was warm. 

“I recognize you.” I reassured her. 

As we came apart from one another, I noticed the slightest of shade color in her flesh, the shadow of a smile on her lips. 

“You’ve grown. You used to run the other way from me.” 

“I have grown. I’ve grown enough to know that running from you is sure to haunt me far more than meeting with you ever will.” 

“I know… I’m a burdensome visitor. No doubt. Surely you’d be better off not being stumbled upon in the woods by a haggard old woman.” She began to sink into a transient shadow before I placed a hand on her shoulder. 

My voice oscillated from my lips in sorrowful vibrato.

 “I forgive you- But it's important you know you've nothing to be sorry for.” I looked her in the eyes with a genuine smile; Held her gaze the way she held mine. My eyes grew hot and welled with tears until one finally slid down my cheek. 

“If you truly forgive me, then you won’t forget what I’ve taught you.”

These words could've been interpreted any number of ways, but I felt them in my gut as a strange sort of encouragement. The woman did not elaborate on her appeal, but bid me goodbye and retreated to stroll along the brook in contemplation. 

As I returned home, I thought about her contribution in great depth, and made it upon my garden with a newfound warmth in my bones. My body felt as though it was more capable; as though replenished with a nutrient it’d been depleted of for decades. I took the worn handle of a hand plow in my grasp and turned the soil with great contentment, the marching beat of blade to earth ricocheting about the wood line until the sun sank over the horizon. 

I think of the gray woman often. From time to time, she appears above my bathroom sink, or upon the convex side of a particularly shiny spoon. I once met her gaze in a crowd, where I nodded to her with knowing eyes before she disappeared into the masses. Her abrupt apparitions still rattle me on occasion, but I intend to always meet her with warmth and assure her that I think of her teachings often.