Shadows and Footsteps

 
There from behind the shadow of a memory almost forgotten it stares at him calling him towards itself beckoning him to just be. He approached cautiously familiar and reminded of time unknown. The soft footstep on the dirt below echoes through the pines and dampened sunlight. It reaches his ears as a whispered verse: "We must hunger after our deliverance." (--Gandhi)

Immediately, his belly rumbles and reverberates its response, "I do not wish to be delivered." The stranger in the shadows disagrees. The sunlight as it dances behind the fog disagrees. The pines as the wind rustles its needles disagrees.

"Now!" Says the footstep as it gathers dust and dirt forming a small ball skirting across the ground.

He clasps his hands over his mouth signaling his disagreement and fear. The dusty dirt ball halts its progression and lays itself to rest. The footstep retracts back to the shadows, and the stranger is gone.

He is so alone he cries. He wishes he was braver. He wishes he had strength. He wishes for his deliverance. But all is gone.

So he leaves too.