Simplifying often reveals a core, or if diligent, a hidden subtext. In this ongoing series, unintentional meanings buried within existing narratives are revealed, forming connections previously unnoticed.
All are extracted from National Geographic magazines.
Outside in the flowering tree / blossoming / it was quiet. / I dropped into a seat toward the Center. / I asked how he found the times, He reflected a moment. / “The only trouble,” he said, “is that life's too short to know and enjoy THE END
H leads T, his son, after a day of gathering in the strategic border area, rich in potential. What, I wonder, will become of the so-called primitives? One day, perhaps, I will know. I remember their last words to me, the alien they befriended: “You will have to come back. We want you to live with us.”
It seems to me that the Future with its desire and fight and optimism to keep alive could take more time to shelter human aspiration, that quiet library of the mind and subtle uplifter of the human spirit—that place that makes a man feel so young.
On the mainland once more, I headed to make the trip—a special pilgrimage attended by those who seek to observe old arriving Men. As watched with relief as darkness bled on a meadow. Chanting in unison they filed slowly around the cemetery to show the dead the living are here pacing round the crowd so frail with age. If I understood little else, I could sense the humility, simplicity, sincerity of these machines.