Addendum : A Cup Somewhat Full

After a certain amount of walking, your body doesn’t recognize what is walking and what is sitting anymore.  What I mean is, evidently I rose at some point and began walking again.  So here I am, pushing branches away from my face, moving forward, going forward.

The last branch I push opens up a clearing.  I slip a bit, and I detect a citrus smell, but that quickly dissipates.  I rub my hands together to remove whatever substance is on my hands from pushing leaves and bark to the side, I stick them in my pockets I take them out.

Straight ahead, a pool of water.  The pool has a reflection in the middle, on top of the water, not beneath it.  I can’t tell what is creating the reflection  — there is light in the sky, but the sun, I can’t see it.  Just light, although dim, as though the sun is setting or rising.  The wailing noise is in the distance, somewhere.  It could be a small engine running.  It could be a swarm of bugs or birds expressing their displeasure, or their indifference.  I mean, my ear isn’t trained to discern these types of things.

At some point I end up on the bank (if you can call it a bank) of this pool.  There are trees on all side.  And there’s me.  I mean, I guess this is all that needs to be here, but for some reason, I’m not sure.

I look down at my watch again.  Still 5:30.  No movement.  Must’ve stopped. It’s hard to tell how tired I should be.  Many times I gauge my exhaustion by the time on the clock.  I mean, numbers and arms and ticking noises shouldn’t cause me less or more tiredness. In this case, it won’t have an effect anyway.  Only the silence. The silence makes me drowsy, and gradually, it lulls me.

My right eye sees a shape underneath the water.  It could be a jar.  The tattered label on the jar could read XXX.

As I go out, I really hope to myself that I haven’t made a mess of things this time.  I really do.