T H E E N D C O M M U N E

My body feels weak, but that is no wonder. I have gathered wood for hours; yesternight was rain, wet wood and weet feet is no joyous thing... if you need warmth, which I do. Autumn roars in the distance. My feet hurt, and these arms sway in the mild breeze; precursor to a hungry storm, if I could have a guess, that will rage about over my hut tonight...though I like the storm, thought I can appreciate its ravenous appetite and the sound of its whining as a lullaby... though I can respect it with all the mightiest of its properties, it sows worry in me... I can not know beforehand if my hut, which is a rather simple yet also footsure nest, built with passion and ardency by these young hands, can withstand the erosion of this night, which will imprint itself in the memories of tribes around these sombre parts of the earth, for in these vast lands, storms matter... weather matters. This night will be the darkest in five-hundred-and-forty thousand years --- a rather important night for the tribespeople. The significance is noticable; there is something in the air; I met a few gatherers; they giggled in cute modesty at the sight of me, my bruised arms with scars scattered; my stern face sombre from th e weight of days... they gathered berries of a peculiar kind I could not for the life of me identify; curiosity raped me, I asked; they did not answer. They weren't afraid though; their eyes were blue and big, and they seemed to study me, almost with a lack of decency: I do not know where these two women come from. After a while --- I gathered wood, they plucked berries from thornbushes, I have never seen such a berry-bearing bush --- they, in abrupt break of a somewhat awkward silence --- said to me , “follow”... after that utterance, short as it was - confusing, a bit weird - they left. There was something odd about them, but not in some disturbing manner; I did not fear, neither did I feel that anxious feeling in my gut: they were happy. They smiled and giggled amidst this weather-heavy forest, quite unwelcoming as it was; thornbushes, trails overgrown since hundreds of years; cairns, even that great forbidden chasm in the central plateau of these woodlands.... dismal this forest was, but it was not dead: two full baskets they had gathered in a mere hour or so --- rather impressive I found it, given the bleakness of the day, the hostility of nature with logs and cairns, the wet moss and the tarns which were treacherous... holes in the ground filled with murky water.... They had lustre --- something was good about them; not only were they beautiful as paintings, they were clad in ceremonial garments --- in the middle of this inhospitable forest --- it made me smile, it made my mood rise like sun in spring... I followed eagerly the berrypickers, they entranced me; there is something about them...