A Near Visit (Rhy)

[DoS Archive]

From: rhy@aol.com (Rhy)
Date: 17 Mar 2000 14:54:44 EST


~An odd day in port, she had left the inns early, marking an instinctive path to a place she'd visited off and on for many years. There was a time it was filled if not exactly by warmth, the claim could still be made that there had been enough laughter to compensate for the lack of it, powered by a mix of singular souls hell bent on anything but tedium. However that translated, it had not been dull.

Her steps now mimicking the halting gait of the unsure traveler, the echo of her heels died in funereal parody of the gathering unease with which she made her approach to the door. Experience warned her not to expect too much. Over time, she'd witnessed the place change... it's passions misdirected. It had long ago become a house divided, with all that implied and as the nature of the place became more stifling, like many others, she'd left. But she
could still recall the optimism of those unfolding years, and when time proved inattentive, she'd made a sort of habit of stopping by for old times sake.

A philosopher by nature, she held to few false hopes. Some things were just universal. Common phenomena was that short of an accounting with God, people who thought better of themselves than their contemporaries were not given to examination of personal motives nor to much thought about the eventual impact of their actions on the collective whole. Such insight would smack of leadership, and that implied accountability-- two concepts most people
shied from like a leper begging on the streets. Most still retained rock tossing priveleges however.

It was easier by far to bait a barb with a thread of words and target them publicly before examining the logic or the motive...both made sadly obvious by repeated action. What momentary glow of attention that might bring to the complainant was simply of more value to them than any long term effect on the community itself.

Pausing just outside the door, a few minutes of skimming the notices confirmed suspicions. The miasmic environment of many years past still clung with the dogged resolution only tyranny of the soul had the power to sustain. Change was clearly not to be.

Rather than enter, it was with an air of wistful regret that she turned from the entrance to retrace her steps. Altering her intentions, she'd simply notify those she wished to see by courier, with invitation to a setting less dismal.