In the light of silence
When the sun sets in the West he takes her to a place where the last rays meet the river...there where the sunlight is the most beautiful. So beautiful that he takes her hand and runs through the cold rushing waters. She speaks to him. He turns his face toward her, and his eyes are bright. They try to imitate the movements of each others languages. He knows of all sorts of places where you can see lights, because there isn't only one light, but many different lights. He would lead her through winding paths and crevices, or else onto the tips of the most high rocks. At the end of his sweeping gesture, there would be nothing but the sky- immense, dazzlingly white, or else the dance of sunlight along the sharp broken rocks, or still yet those sort of moons that the sun makes through the leaves of the shrubs. Those things were more beautiful when he looked at them, newer, as if no one had ever seen them before him, as in the beginning of the world. He shows all those things to her alone.
The air is so transparent now, the light so soft, that you think you're in another world. The air is smooth and pure, the line of the horizon is infinite. Together they find luminous patterns in ever flowing water. He watches but does not disrupt. Through short, patient motions he explains patterns in light and nature. He bids the inevitable. He fears nothing because he belongs to no one. He's wary of the others, because they don't have time to wait. They do not see the silences of light as he does. They do not share his obsession with nothingness. Only she can take his hand when silence sets with the sun. Only she can hear his heart sing in the early hours of day when the first rays kiss the horizon. And he holds her. Time bends with their bodies, and the silence laughs at the happiness shared in a moment filled with promise.