Wednesday, January 2, 2013


A soothsayer said to me, long ago, "Your future and your fate will be determined by the hills." I asked the old woman what she meant, how I was to interpret this pronouncement. She shook her head, she shook my teacup, overturned the leaves onto a saucer, held my hand. "I do not know, my dear, too much of who you are remains indistinct and uncertain. You will have to create your own fate. It lies entangled with the hills."

She would say no more, and I was young, and impatient, and left feeling frustrated and angry. If the soothsayer could not read the patterns across my palm, if my fate was truly unsettled, then perhaps I had neither fate nor future. Perhaps I was merely a ghost in the present, my feet treading too lightly across the world to leave impressions in even the softest soil.