In the previous “The Approach to Epiphany” I wanted to describe Johnathan Goffe’s walk up to his sister’s home. The narrative spun of topic and did not return well even once I noticed, made note, and tacked the other direction.
In this I’m am going to take the same photograph and apply it to entirely different characters. Should be a fun exercise.
Wednesday Walk was strange. High branching trees colonnaded the narrow lane emphatically. Icy fog obscured the leafless canopy making it seem even more lofty, more universal, than Sophia already imagined.
The wet winter air held mysteries from her nose. The Walk smelled clean as far as Sophia could sniff it out–and maybe it was–but she knew the world outside this oaken corridor hid pungent wounds needing healing. The limp day-old snow helped hide them too.
But mornings like these couldn’t muffle sounds. A spoken word, a closing gate, a toe catching on a stone would all rush to her on the moist air and she’d hear them as precisely as her own thoughts. She could be the perfect eavesdropper finding out lovers and holding their secrets secret–or not. She could spy on honest men and thieves alike. She could hunt up twittering mice like an owl. She could do all these things if only there were sounds sounding. Even the couple ahead was quiet.
Sophia knew she was coming to something too quickly. The blind sky and the mute fields compelled her patience. Even her numb fingers told her to to wait–to be not hasty. If she arrived too early, too unprepared, this thing would not yet be, might even cease to be able to be.
In defiance Sophia picked up her pace.
Word count: 278