Crumbling Visage

Cliff

Fergus had been looking forward to camping for a long while; he just wasn't ready for the place to be so very quiet. The place was a high- almost cliff like- structure of jagged stones interspersed with moss and grass; if you looked over the edge you could say the mass of earth thick with lush green grass, wild flowers and even a few oak and birches down below.

A quaint, little stream crossed the field of wildflowers at an odd gradient- the water appeared starkly blue and fresh when viewed from the cliff but if you looked closely it was a subtle green- almost turquoise and full of seaweeds and little silver fishes darting in and out.

All in all, it was underrated beauty; Fergus thought with a sigh- wasn't it always?

He hadn't wanted to stay alone in the little camp he'd set up- almost praying for a person or two to be somewhere around yet refusing to invite anyone he knew. However, as it turned out, not many people were aware of this treasure of a place- and those who were, couldn't be bothered to speculate beyond viewing pictures and poetic words.

He quietly sat by the fire, sipping on hot chocolate and watching the sun set- tingeing the horizon a faint pink. It almost looked like the sky was flushing bright shades of red, orange and pink against the wilting blue and lightening sun. Setting the mug down, he walked over to

the edge of the cliff and cautiously peered down; he felt his heart pounding in his chest- yet not enough to justify the thrill he felt; he felt his legs shaking slightly and a faint unease wound its way up his toes- but it was not enough; nothing of his body could feel enough in that moment.

He noticed the speck of a man walking down to the stream and filling a mug with the fresh stream water which he splashed on his face. The man looked up towards the cliff and Fergus swore he could see a crinkle of a smile in the man's features.

Fergus raced back to his tent and pulled on some warmer clothes and better footwear before hiking down- he might as well meet this strange apparition that had so kindly projected itself.

When he reached the bottom- overlooked by the cliff- he was considerably tired and the darkness had loomed its daunting face- even as he looked at the sky, tiny specks of stars and constellations peeked from the cloudless sky.

There was enough moonlight to see the rows and rows of wildflowers- so colorful by day, yet indistinguishable by night. The smell of seaweed was distantly interspersed with the smell of something distinctly woody. In the distance- in a secluded corner- was a small, wooden hut with distant fumes wafting into the night.

Fergus watched entranced as the fumes seemed to blend into the moonlight. He was snapped back to attention by the humming of a man; the song was vaguely familiar yet somehow, he did not know the language. Perhaps, the song had no language- he frowned, of course songs had language, didn't they?

A ringing laughter caught his attention and the old man asked him, "Would you be looking for shelter, young man? Or maybe a nice cup of tea with an old man."

Fergus looked apprehensive, "I am camping over there." He pointed vaguely in the direction of the cliff.

"I see."

"I wished to introduce myself, seeing as we are perhaps, the only ones here..."

The man hummed thoughtfully, "We're not the only ones here, gentleman. However, you haven't quite introduced yourself."

"I am Fergus."

"Your name is Fergus..."

"Yes, that's what I just said." Fergus tapped his fingers against his knee, in obvious irritation.

"Not quite, sir." The old man chuckled heartily, "Would you care for a cup of tea, sir?"

"Yes, thank you." Fergus paused in contemplation, "You live here with family?"

"No."

"Well, but you're not here alone, you just said that."

"Ah, yes, I made that clear." The man smiled pleasantly.

"What is your name?"

"I am just an old man." The man smiled ruefully, then added, "Who knows?"

Fergus seemed to think that coming down here was a bad idea but leaving wouldn't be quite polite. So, he accompanied the man as he led the way up to the little, wooden place.

The wooden hut was small and bare. There was a small but cozy kitchen, a bathroom of sorts and a living room with soft cushions laid out on the hay.

"So..." Fergus took a tentative sip of tea and spoke after a considerable while, "Who else is here? This place I mean..."

"Well," the man's eyes twinkled with a soft smile, "There are the trees, the birds, the squirrels, the stream, the wildflower..."

"Er, a human I mean?"

"There's you." The man's smile stayed intact.

"I thought you said we weren't alone."

"And we aren't."

Fergus let out a frustrated sigh- this was all going round in circles; he decided that the man was probably a lunatic and it was best to leave. He hurriedly sipped on his tea, nearly choking on it.

"Ah, I've got to go back."

"You do."

Fergus was growing increasingly annoyed of this eerie man, so, despite the fact that it was dark and he'd but a flashlight that might go out at any moment- he left to hike up.

************

The marble was pure white but rugged- after all it was hand- crafted; Fergus had spent the better part of an hour trying to carve out the rougher edges and to write on it.

The old man had died the next morning- when Fergus had gone down to visit him, for lack of company was getting on his nerves.

He had just found the man by the stream; his face a mask of equanimity and his breathing gone. Simply gone. Like the flicker of a candle- already half- extinguished and just waiting for the smallest touch of wind.

Fergus had carved out a quote on the tombstone- 'Cliff, trees, streams and birds were witness to this man's breath.'

The man had no name, apparently, so a quote would have to do. He had no family, so Fergus would have to do.

It is enthralling how time seems to ebb and flow like a stream joining a river- and desperate for it too. The journey of it is a long voyage into nothingness. Fergus was neither happy nor in any apparent misery or torment. Being a mask of tranquility and austere existence, finding a piece of himself in every passing

cloud, in every clump of grass and earth, every wildflower and every drop of the tide was all him.

"Your name is Fergus..." Fergus's voice was soft, striking a melody in the night air. He looked at the young man before him- impatient and stubborn, clearly annoyed.

"Yes, that's what I just said..."