Continuum of Diffidence

A tall peak looms in front of him. A large swathe of land laid bare from the punishing sun. Yet the cold winter’s breeze bites through, a mix of dry air, and thorny reeds pricking the feet every step he takes.

There is a long road he has taken to get here. Only bumps and rickety movement. The back hurts from the constant ups and downs. The shoulders ache as he’s held on far too tight to the handles for my own good. A pretend safety where death looms just one gear away.

Lost are the realms of heights. Beyond understanding and remit. A never-ending fear of heights always accompanying every ride up to the mountains. He admires the subtle courage that comes with the confidence of walking in precipices without hesitation. Something he does and yet with half the mind hanging on for dear life.

Leagues away lies another, encased in a room of their own making. The heft laden with memories of what never were. He sees and it paints one picture as a whole and another without the constituent parts. For the parts themselves do not exist. Chasing an image which is formed only by virtue of reflecting another’s light.

All he has is his silence. The genesis of his diffidence. Suspended over a thread of time without an anchor. Fixed over a hook beyond the reach and visibility of an upside down body. Seeking not an end but a continuum. In what magnitude, he knows not. Is there another?