Hanging on Clouds (293 Words)
There are some ideas that can only be summed up by a picture. Telling the idea is never as good as the picture itself.
I wish that I could speak you a sunset, but you have to feel its warmth; I wish that I could speak to you the reflection of light on water, but you have to feel that light dazzle in your head. But it has been years since I saw a sunset, since I lost my eyes in the dragon fire that cost so many lives.
“It’s beautiful,” says Eddie. He likes to walk with me here. The wind is gentle and I can smell the water, a rich, plant-like smell from the wide lake. Today I can feel the warmth from the setting sun and I know the water must be shining.
“What do you see?” I ask. Words are no substitute, but I like to hear Eddie try. He is simple and shy, and I like the way he answers me.
“The clouds are like pillows,” he says—an image with an image, but I know what pillows should be, soft and fluffy—“and the water’s smooth. The sun’s reflected in three parts—it’s very strange—like a glass reflecting two ways.”
“Three suns,” he offers, “one on top of the other.”
I laugh. “You are so bad at this.”
He holds my arm against him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish that you could see for yourself.”
The sadness in his voice makes me think. I stop walking and turn him a little to me, feeling with my hands over his face. I can feel the sun’s last rays in his hair, on his forehead.
“This is enough,” I say. “This is enough for me.”