Forty-Two

I was walking in a riverbed and I did not get wet because the water divided around my body. My arms were open wide, I could touch the soft, liquid light with my fingertips. There was also something on my back, the sensation reminded me of arms or legs made of gauze or thin paper… I wondered how they looked, maybe I had insect-like wings… Whatever they were, they felt new and fragile. I wondered what would happen if they got wet. But they didn’t.

Then it was late afternoon, almost evening. I was in a forest. A soft light walked among the long shadows of trees. And there was a cascade. The water in its fall became a male body until it splashed and merged with the river below. Again. And again. The third time, however, he did not plunge into the stream: he started to run. He ran and ran through the forest, and the river followed with such force that it broke some trees and uprooted others. All was under water.

By the time he was gone, it was getting dark. Right in front of me, I could see a whirling, pulsating darkness: a hole where a tree used to be. The Siberian man stepped to me, took my hand and, minding his steps at the edge of dark, infinite vortexes, he was leading the way. We were heading towards an enormous tree that resembled a woman.

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