time’s miror

50 03 March 9th 2014

Time’s Mirror (Sunday Photo Fiction)

Was that really my face reflecting back into the pond? There was the birch behind me, the rock I kneeled on. A small school of fish ripped the water, shattering my face into undulating circles.

I remembered the last time I’d looked into the water. The face was smooth then, with long dark braids hanging into the water.  A younger smile, a spark in the eyes. A smatter of freckles.

Now, the hair was grey under the dye, shorter, pulled back into a messy bun almost held in place by a hair clip. The clothes were almost the same, little changed in style and shapelessness.

Lumpier knees, current scrapes over scars. Hands with popped veins and more scars. Wrinkles. Shoulders more stooped. An older smile. Tired eyes. Rosacea red spots.

I wasn’t sure why I came back after years. Years spent in foreign places. Years spent adventuring. Publishing photographs. Writing books. Years spent alone.

Back to memories when aloneness wasn’t lonely. When my own company, paths through woods to mirror ponds was all I wanted. All I needed.


5 thoughts on “time’s miror

I like first person narratives.

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