Apocalypse Morning

It was apocalyptically still this morning. The kind of apocalypse that really frightens me--forget all the Hollywood bullshit, with hobos in tatters shrieking hellfire as soldiers in Hummers blast the streets. No, this apocalypse was not like that at all.

In this sort of apocalypse, there is no immediate change, except an unnatural stillness. The trees don't move. The air is breathless and thin. If you come to the window at a moment when there are no cars or people passing, you sense something deeply frightening: perfect emptiness. The longing that used to emanate from the world--the link to the spirit world, if you look at it that way--is gone. All that's left are the shadows of things. Shadow trees, shadow streetlights, shadow grass, shadow clouds. Even the people seem to be shadow people. Doing their shadow work and playing their shadow play.

But somehow, trapped deep inside, you are not yet a shadow. There is enough of you left to realize that. You also feel that, if you travelled to the peak of the highest mountain or to the depths of the ocean, you might still find a trace of spirit in the world.

Then, when the next car passes or the next wind stirs, you shudder at what you have been pondering, and laugh a little at your own silliness. Everything feels familiar again. You get used to the slight chill that remains, or maybe you pretend it's not there. So little by little, the world gets colder, and you try not to notice. Of course, trying not to notice turns into really not noticing, until you, too, are a shadow.

Well, I watched the stillness from my window, just to see how long it would last. I waited until the wind materialized in the room with me. Then I poured a cup of coffee and put on a sweater to keep off the chill, except for on my cheeks, where I liked to feel it. Apocalypse. Don't let it happen to you. Seize the fire. Don't be a shadow.



h.