f o r g i v e n e s s
b y A n d r e w L o v a t t
he arrived at forgiveness in the
harsh, white northern steppes, after the towns called bitterness and
regret. forgiveness lay around the edge of the lake of grieving, and
on clearer days you could still see other towns near across the other
the train exhaled and enveloped itself in steamy obscurity, grunting
and shunting like a huge metal horse straining at the bit and determined
journey on to the end of the line. a voyage out of here to some nebulous
there. an undefined adventure.
the steam swirled and he alighted to find the ground packed with ice and
snow, the vapours sticking to his face and beard and turning to icicles
within seconds. his breath mingled with the iron smell enveloped in the
steam. the machine hissed and hawed. figures appeared and passed in the
swirl, crunching their feet on the relentless crystal ground.
the guard shouted muffled notices of intention that no one could properly
understand. the inevitable moving on of things and objects. even death
is a movement in time. voices drifted with the figures or trailed after
them, hinting echoes of the past and the reason for coming to forgiveness.
he crunched his way through the white steam towards the station all encrusted
in snow and ice, with only it’s chimney spilling smoke into the
white featureless sky. he would have a glass of hot vodka and ask the
redemption from here.
[ 21.08.02 newbridge ]
copyright © 2003
photo: winter sleeping by sarah mcdermott