It stands atop a small hill in the most desolate, dry part of nowhere. If anyone passes they see it hanging loosly from a white pole. They may wonder if it marks a water hole although the only thing that grows is the dust between the rocks. They may wonder if it marks treasure, but the hill is granite; smooth and untouched save the small flagpole shaped hole bored 16 inches into it. There is nothing; no reason for this flag to fly and yet here it stands.
There are no epiphanies to be found here. No truths or prophecies or enlightenments. Holy men may come and go in this wilderness but they will not find meaning, sustenance or strength from this flag.
It sways in the breezes that leave as quickly as they come. It drifts awake on moments noticing the air too late to play with it. There are no storms, no roaring, howling winds. This flag has never stood alert, pulled between nature and it's tether. Instead, it hangs it's head to the ground.
No purpose, no markings, no meaning. For some this is too much. Do you dare to linger in the blazing heat of the midday sun? Do you want more; to know what this could mean? Can you accept that ultimately it may lead to nothing...
...or are you one of those who refuse to accept the existence of nothing?
We shall see.
Copywrite
Who wrote this...
- Wavelength
- La Terne, Bermuda
- Somewhere along the trailing edge of the bell curve.