A Place for Waiting

These clouds are so white.

They’re grey.

They’re a whitish grey, the colour of sea foam building up on the shoreline.

They’re grey.

I can’t see many shapes, not really. I thought, for a moment, that one there looked to be a dog, a young pup playing on a grassy field, a ball, layered with drool, clenched in its jaw. Too much drool and too much ball for its mouth that his brayed lips froth and overflow with spit; he bounds proudly. Just for a second, I saw this, but then it disappeared, bounding off into the sea foam before it was ever really there, just a shadow of an idea of a dog.

They’re clouds, just clouds.

Clouds can be things; take shape.

Clouds are clouds and things are things and shapes are shapes.

What is this place?

Hm?

This place. Where we are right now in this moment.

It’s just a place.

A place is a place.

Uh-huh.

But what is this place? What is its purpose?

Does a place have a purpose?

All places have a purpose.

Not all places. Surely.

Truly.

What about a ditch, a ditch at the edge of a road, mottled with dry grass and littered with trash thrown from speeding cars?

Oh, a ditch at the edge of a road has many purposes.

Name one purpose that a dry-grass-and-trash-filled ditch at the edge of a road could possibly have.

When the rain is fierce and torrents of water plummet too quickly to the same place before it has a chance to rush away, a ditch at the edge of the road provides a place for that water to rest and wait its turn to leave. A ditch at the edge of a road saves lives.

Well, that was an easy one. What is another purpose for a ditch at the edge of a road?

When a car stops working as it should, perhaps the battery has died or the motor burns at a temperature far beyond what it should, a ditch at the edge of the road is where a driver can steer their car to safety. And because the car is now in the ditch at the edge of the road and not on the road in the way of oncoming traffic, no one else need be inconvenienced, so this ditch at the side of the road has provided one with safety and another with assurance that they will make it to a place on time, a very good thing for a ditch to provide when the need for someone to be at a certain place at a certain time is essential.

Okay; so, a ditch at the edge of a road has purpose. But not every place has a purpose. What of a dry creek bed in the middle of a forest that no human has ever set foot?

A place doesn’t just need to serve a purpose to humans.

No?

No. That dry creek bed in the middle of a forest that no human has ever set foot belongs to the creatures to which no human has ever seen. The rodents who scurry the forest floor seek shelter in the dry rock crevices of the dry creek bed, warm and snug in their small tight-fitted caves, they’re safe from the hawks and owls and other predator that seek them out.

Huh.

What?

So, a dry creek bed in the middle of a forest that no human has ever set foot provides a similar safety to that of a ditch at the edge of a road.

Yes; it does.

I see.

So, what is this place?

This place?

This place.

What do you think of this place? What purpose does it serve?

I wouldn’t ask if I knew. But… this is not a place I know.

No.

I hear nothing. Nothing but you. I hear no birds in the trees, their feathered wings rustling softly as the bird settles into its nest. I hear no bees lazing from this flower to the next. I hear no water, no gentle trickle or raging deluge.

Perhaps it is dry.

What?

The water. Perhaps not far from here is a dry creek bed protecting its rodent inhabitants.

Perhaps. But I don’t think that is the case.

No.

So, what is this place?

Just a place.

A place always serves a purpose.

As we have established.

I’m afraid.

Why?

I don’t know this place. It feels new yet old, changed yet the same. It feels as though I have both been here before and that I haven’t.

Is that something to be feared? A place that you may or not know?

It can be.

Indeed.

Should I be afraid?

I don’t know.

What is this place?

Just a place.

A place.

Yes. A place.

Is it safe?

As safe as a ditch at the edge of a road or a dry creek bed in the middle of a forest that no human has ever stepped foot.

Those places aren’t always safe.

Oh?

Someone alone, standing in a ditch at the edge of a road, might not be seen by someone driving a car what’s motor is burning at a temperature far higher than it should. And when that driver of the car what’s motor is burning at a temperature far higher than it should veers to the edge of the road, to safety, they may hit a person, standing alone.

That’s true enough.

And while that rodent who hides in a burrow of rocks in the dry creek bed in the middle of the forest that no human has ever set foot lays safe from the keen eye of hawks and owls… the burrow to which it burrowed may be the home of a waking snake, hungry for its next meal to last it a week… or two, dependent on the size of the rodent.

Also, true.

So, am I safe?

Mm.

That’s not really an answer.

There’s no answer to give. This is not a place with an easy definition.

I feel like there is something coming.

Oh?

Something important.

That is interesting.

I am waiting for something.

Indeed.

What are we waiting for?

Not me; just you.

What am I waiting for?

That remains to be seen.

I don’t understand.

Not many do.

Should I be scared?

Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you ordinarily fear change?

That depends.

So, perhaps you should be afraid and perhaps you should not.

You don’t make a lot of sense.

That is only because you don’t understand.

Why won’t you tell me?

That is not my purpose.

Your purpose?

As a place has a purpose, so do I.

What is your purpose?

To wait.

But you said you aren’t waiting, that only I am.

That is correct.

So, I am waiting, and you are not. But your purpose is to wait.

That seems about right.

Seems about weird.

Perhaps.

What are you waiting for?

Ah! There’s the difference.

What difference?

The difference between our waiting.

We’re waiting for something different.

Exactly.                                          

What are you waiting for?

I am waiting for nothing; still, I am waiting with you.

That is your purpose? To wait with me.

For the moment.

What happens once I am finished waiting?

Then I will wait for the next who requires waiting with.

I am waiting for something. And you are waiting with me until that something arrives or occurs, and then, afterward, you continue to wait.

Yes.

Are you always waiting?

Always waiting.

Do you get bored of waiting?

No.

Why not? I would if all I ever did was wait.

Ha!

What? What is so funny?

You speak of purposes, so isn’t it clear? I do not bore because this is my purpose.

To wait.

Exactly.

Do you enjoy it?

What?

Waiting.

I neither enjoy waiting nor find it boring. It is simply a task that I do.

So, what am I waiting for?

That remains to be seen.

Have I been here before?

Perhaps.

Would I remember if I had?

Unlikely.

Is this death?

How can this be death if you are waiting?

Maybe I am waiting to see where I go when I die.

Hm. That is an interesting way to consider the matter.

So, am I right? Am I dead?

You are not dead.

Yet.

Do you wish to be dead?

I don’t think anyone wants to be dead.

I have met some who have.

I think its colder.

Hm?

The temperature. I feel… cold.

Cold doesn’t last long.

I’m scared.

As many are.

It’s getting colder.

Feel the grass touch your skin, feel it itch but in a way that is not unpleasant, at least, not unpleasant enough for you feel like moving.

The grass… it feels like ice, frozen pinnacles piercing my skin.

Feel the weight of the breeze, soft and silent, caressing your skin, a kiss.

I’m scared.

Look at the clouds, see them shifts and sway, orchestrating the breeze. Aren’t they brilliant? Bright and white in the sky.

They’re grey.

Hm?

The clouds. They’re grey, not white.

They’re a whitish grey, like sea foam building up on the shoreline.