On An Ancient Battlefield

Pelle mala, terge sordes, Et discordes fac concordes, Et affer praesidium. Adam de Saint Victor Chartres,12th century A.D. ****** ****** ****** You arrived early to this one-time battlefield, and not encountering any opposition, declared yourself the victor. I arrived second, and saw your back turned on me. Had you seen me, and turned away, or have you been staring at something over there, in that field of grass and wild flowers, where an ancient battle was decided in favor of an upstart, a traitor blessed with luck. A place like this rewards respect: if you have questions, it answers; if you have answers, it confirms. It does not prattle with traps or confuse with prevarications. Besides you are smarter than those warlords who risked everything for absolute power. But none of this speaks to me anymore. My eyes strain to see all of you in diminishing light. And a whole season of silence and stillness has gone by as we stand our ground. The ice lake you stand on is snow-covered, crystalline, flashing snow that hides the danger of our being here. We are dazzled by such glimpses of beauty. In those suspended moments, when your destiny and mine hangs by a thread, you look for a lane of light shifting in your direction. When it appears. you will pounce on its slippery surface. You never slip or falter. Is it the light that protects you...? We are as far from each other as we will ever be, at this moment any hope of reconciliation is as remote as the crack of spring thaw in the frozen air. Even more so - your heart is hardened, it will never give you leave... It might be easier to resolve our impasse with columns of knights in heavy armor, their horses festooned with symbolic plumes, both men and horses anxious for the clash of arms. This is what they live for: this is what they die for. And afterwards one of us could pick up the pieces, and declare a victory. But that was history, a solution from another time. Are we not smarter than those ancient warriors? Furthermore, - I wait for you here in this cold region, trying not to look like I'm waiting for you. I hear a faint sound of shifting waters below the ice you stand on. You must hear it too. Is that the last sound we will ever share? When you finally turn to face me, will there only be footprints in the snow, and in the distance a blot of color that is my silent departure across frozen grass.