The Track

The track leads through the darkness of a winter’s night; up the side of a step hill; past noble trees; up-and-up into the emptiness of no trees; along a treacherous ridge; and finally – out of breath and exhausted – the track leads to the place where earth and æther coalesce.

Ancient light shines through the aching corridors of space. To me the unsure twinkling of snow-crystal stars is more solid than the burning city lights I left behind. Lying beneath that vast emptiness – all those light years of darkness – brings me comfort.

For millennia mankind has been casting questions into the inky well of space. Some questions become satellites; they drop out of orbit and land in the deepest part of the ocean. Other questions have broken free and are winging their way to distant galaxies: who knows if they will return answered?

My question is old.

I know it is old.

But still I ask.

“Why?”

My question bursts out of my chest and flies through the darkness with meteoric speed. My question is a gentle creature riding a fiery dragon. My question breaks through the stratosphere and disappears from sight.

I feel lighter as I stand to leave. I wrap my coat around me; set my feet upon the track, but before I leave, I turn my face to the sky and whisper:

“Good night.”