Silo34

Traveler:                  This place seems familiar. Have I been here before?

Oberon:                   (looking up from the slow-moving river to take in the traveler) Where are you comparing it to?

Traveler:                  I was walking along a riverbank very much like this one. And suddenly there was this shadow.

Oberon:                   Excuse me, did you say shadow?

Traveler:                  Well, not so much a shadow as a rustling of leaves. I mean it was a rustling of leaves until the moment it wasn’t. And then it was a shadow.

Oberon:                   And this rustling of leaves brought you here?

Traveler:                  Yes. I mean, no. It was a shadow. Although I’m not quite sure where here is. I mean, it’s night instead of day. It’s cool instead of warm. It’s quiet here, and that’s different too—the silence.

Oberon:                   Where exactly do you think you came from?

Traveler:                  I’m . . . not sure. Someplace else.

Oberon:                   And you’re quite sure of that?

Traveler:                  Well yes, of course I’m sure. Do you only ask questions?

Oberon:                   You think I ask too many questions?

Traveler:                  I’m just trying to understand how I got here. I mean, I was standing by the river, looking up at a beautiful blue sky, then suddenly I’m here with you looking up at stars.

Oberon:                   (gazing upward) Haven’t the stars always been there?

Traveler:                  No. It was daylight, you know, blue sky and clouds.

Oberon:                   (picks up a stone and skips it along the river’s surface. splashes illuminate with a trail of starlight through the night.)

Traveler:                  So (clearing his throat) where am I and how do I get back?

Oberon:                   (Oberon moves to a fallen tree, sits and pours two glasses of wine) Please sit and wait with me.

Traveler:                  Very well, but what are we waiting for?

Oberon:                   The next skip of the stone.

Oberon and the Traveler drift through the night. Sipping on their wine, they look up at the passing stars.

• Image–charcoal and pastel on paper by sw pisciotta