Bright, hot, sunny day. At the crest of a small hill, looking down a path. A woman, hard to tell her age, neither young girl nor old woman, slowly crests the small hill pushing a rusty wheel barrow. She fights to keep it balanced and struggles against the weight. She is filthy. Her long hair is a tangle of mats and twisted locks of hair. A grasshopper can be seen cresting her head. Her long dress, could have been a wedding dress at one time, is torn, tattered and spotted. One sleeve completely ripped off, exposes an arm with streaks of dirt and old blood. As she steps forward in her continuing struggle against the weight of the wheel barrow and its contents, a bare leg shows through a tear in the dress that goes almost to waist. As with the arm, it is disfigured by scars, markings and grime. Her face is contorted by the struggle against the load and her lips are animated by swears that can be seen but not heard.
Now that she has crested the hill and on the descent of the other side, her gate changes, her face softens momentarily but the struggle continues with the wheel barrow. She makes a right turn off the beaten path towards a dock with an arched sign at the end. Branches and brambles on either side of the path reach out to impede her progress. A new tear here or there. A drop of sap from one the trees adds to tangle of hair. She stretches out her sleeved arm to push aside one of the branches. On it can be scene mice feces and old clumps of mud now hardened into permanent fixtures intertwined with the lace on the sleeve.
As she pushes her way onto the dock it appears that she is limping. As the other leg is exposed when she exerts herself to push the one-wheeled load completely onto the dock, a heelless shoe is exposed. Continuing to mumble swears and curses she pushes her load but with a fully erect confident gait. She stops just short of the end of the dock and walks around in front of her heavily laden cart. She stands full height underneath the arched sign, takes in the view of the expanse of water that stretches to the horizon. She turns, bends, and struggles to lift a platter sized rock. With sweat and grunts she turns and heaves the rock into the water. As she exhales a sigh of relief she looks skyward and for the first time we see the beginning of a smile.
She turns and grabs another thick platter sized stone, this one dark gray in color, and struggles to maintain her balance. Once more turning toward the blissful sea she heaves it with all her might and a scream. The heavy rock does not sail too far. The large stone does a perfect belly-flop landing on the surface of the water generating maximum splash. “Hah!” she shouts into the air at no one in particular. Her clear eyes and bright smile are as plain as daylight.
She repeats the ritual with a dark red stone that looks like a giant scab. “Woo hoo” she shouts in exultation and does that hair flip thing that only women can do. Her dark tresses swing in an arch and flow gracefully over her shoulders. Her beautiful hair graces her filthy dresses and gives it an undeserved complement by its presence. By contrast the filth of the dress is an insult to the silken locks that flow over it.
Another stone, the color of a kale smoothie is next to go. A giddy laugh echoes from nowhere in particular. She stands taller. Her arms are free from the waste and scars that clung to them. She casts another mini-boulder into the water. Like a small child, she leaps with laughter at the splash. As she squats to get her arms around another rock that looks like a petrified cow pie, both legs, strong and clean can be seen peaking through the tears of her dress. Another pivot. Another heave-ho. As the rock hits the water she points at it and curses it, vehemently cursing its descent to the bottom.
She peers into the wheel barrow. Nothing but spiders and centipedes remain. She walks around to the handled side of the wheel barrow. She lifts the hem of her dress and plants the instep of her sparkly white sling back on the rim of the filthy wheel barrow. With a scream like a woman giving birth, she violently pushes the wheel barrow off the end of the dock. If flips off the end, doing a 180 and lands open side down on the water. The imbalance is quickly corrected and flips wheel side down and slowly sloshes side to side into the water.
She walks to the of the dock, looks over the edge then looks out to the sea. Her face relaxed, her hair glistening, she leans her head back and smiles one of those smiles that is forever remembered for its purity and serenity. She turns, with the type of grace that comes from confidence she walks up the dock back towards the path. The branches and brambles that impeded her arrival recede at her every step. At the junction to the main path she pauses and slightly turns her head back towards the dock then boldly turns right and continues on the path. The bent over hag that came from the left departs as kinetic art to the right.
Drawing back from the woman, along the dock, taking an aerial view of the water, searching its depths, only golden sand can be seen through the gentle waves. With the woman fading away behind us and the expanse of the see spreading before, we can see the sign over the dock: “The Sea of Forgetfulness”
Frugal Pilgrim 