He spilled from the thicket into a stream that wound beneath the towering bluffs. How he had frequented this forgotten space as a child, dreaming of alabaster roads and robed druids, ancient shrines and a guardian spirit that watched from the heights with piercing eyes. Fantastical tales, meant to teach and frighten and instill wonder. Imaginative stories crafted to praise heroism and good deeds.
Embellishments and lies each.
He stood upon no fabled path, no home to legend. The stream hardly rippled around his hands and knees, but he saw no reflection. Childish superstition always stopped him from wandering too far into the overgrown basin. The thrill of possibility and the hope for its truth always sent him scurrying back home. Were he not losing blood, he would just feel a tired impatience. He wouldn’t have come at all.
There was no more sound of arrows sailing overhead, blades running through flesh, farming implements clanging against full armor. The victorious yells of the oppressors and anguished cries of his people, so clear moments earlier, were quieted by wind through the looming trees. He was safe, but he felt increasingly lightheaded. Would the guardian spirit grant him audience? Would it take offense at his presence and scoff at his pleas? Would he find anything at all?
He stifled a pained cry and weakly gripped the arrow. Whatever lay at the end of the path, beyond the warm radiance that seemed to pulse far distant, he hoped it would forgive his trespass and see the earnestness of his petition, that it wouldn’t begrudge his disbelief. War had come, and those of his community were in need.
A tranquil stream between two sandstone bluffs, found at Starved Rock State Park in Utica, IL, USA.
Mamiya RB 67 Pro-S
Mamiya 50mm f/4.5 C
Rollei Infrared – ISO 400 – 6×7