I followed the morning sun. I loved how I could wear different layers of clothing. It was as if I was in the military. I had bought myself a carbon knife from Switzerland. Although expensive, they looked elegant to me; they solved my purpose well. It wasn’t the usual rainforest. The base was far less dense, no animals to be weary of but a chilling cold was perpetual. There were less sources of water so one had to carry a handful when going for a hike.
Forest is one place where you thank the corporates for tinned food. I decided to camp during the evening. I collected some broad dry wood as I did not like blazing fires, especially during the night. I love how every adventure yearns for equilibrium, an ironic symphony.
I had once been to the circus. We were travelling Asia if I remember correctly. It was my first time, so I didn’t know what to expect. I was awed by the end. All the performers had already performed. Towards the end there was something very close to chaos. There were trapeze performers flying, the clowns were all in the background, repeating their trademark moves; there were animals in one corner and the tight rope walker was moving towards the audience. If you looked at it without watching the show, it made no sense; but when you looked at it closely, it seemed like an orchestra. Every instrument beautiful on its own, and ironically when all are played together, they created euphoria.
I had managed to light a small fire beside my tent. I went back to reading my book. It was probably midnight when I realised that the morning would be pivotal to my plan. I thought about all that could happen and eventually fell asleep in an hour.
The chilly morning wind woke me up. The sun had come up already and it was time to leave. The place was probably a dozen kilometres away from the tent. I had been very fit past few years; adventure sports, rock climbing and had finally settled on camping in the snow. It still took me all afternoon to walk the treacherous terrain.
I was finally there. Supported by tress was my tree house, roughly fifteen feet above ground. I had made it myself a few years back. I always enjoyed tree houses as a kid. Privacy is always a priced possession for a child. This house had everything, a view of the lake when the mist cleared, a makeshift furnace, food and for this time, some special things. The window seemed to have broken, maybe it was the winds.
I climbed up. The place was in chaos. Things were lying around, curtains taken down and there was paint all over the floor. By the window was a painting. It had captured the scenery outside, beautifully. However there were houses there; who would want to stay in that cold?
I finally noticed the artist lying on the floor. Her hand was covered with a piece of cloth that was red. She must have broken the window. It was pretty cold and the thin mattress wouldn’t have kept out the chilling wooden floor. She still was sleeping very peacefully.
I sat beside her, not wanting to disturb her. She looked weak, but nevertheless stunning especially after I had seen her passion. She was the perfect choice, I thought to myself as I sat their imagining our next conversation.
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