A Way Station--First Version

The glade was a large tranquil pool fed by the rush of falling water and surrounded by lush greenery. The canopy of the trees formed a large, leafy dome, making the glade feel like a cathedral. Through it, thin shafts of sunlight like gauze curtains fell onto the water. The air was cooler and crisp, with the vapor from the bottom of the waterfall lazily drifting onto his brow.

He had come to the glade in hopes of healing, or if not that, to relieve some of his burden, to remind him of awe and of things outside of himself. And when he reached the glade after the long journey in between stations, he looked at the sunlight and at the canopy. He listened to the white noise of the falling water and the birdsongs. And he still felt nothing but loss.

When they finally found what remained, all that time later, there was nothing but an old, empty journal and tattered clothing. There was nothing else to suggest that he ever existed, much less the complexity of his life.