I walked back to my car. The gravel path seemed longer than before. The forest seemed quieter. And for the rest of the day, I kept glancing at my reflection in windows, checking to see if the sky behind my eyes had changed.
I haven't told my girlfriend. She already knows. 2poles 1hole
It had. It was the bruised purple one.
I stood up, dizzy. The poles looked the same. The hole looked like dirt again. But now I understood the name. Two Poles, One Hole wasn't a description—it was a riddle. The poles were the watchers. The hole was the answer to a question I hadn't known I was asking. I walked back to my car
I reached out. My fingers passed through the surface without resistance, and I felt something I can't name: not cold, not warm, but present , like a hand that had been waiting to hold mine. I pulled back fast. My fingertips were clean, but they smelled of rain on asphalt, of the inside of a seashell, of my grandmother's kitchen before she died. And for the rest of the day, I