Blustering chill winds imprisoning most people in their homes howled one man's name urging him to the river. Aron put his daily chores on hold . Pulling two pairs of jeans over his longjohns, a flannel shirt and thermal vest layered under his coat, he left his cottage for the river.
'This weather isn't so bad,' he told himself as he sat on his favorite bench. An icebreaker plowed a path through the ice for other boats making their usual upriver journey. Huge chunks of ice left floating, bobbed in the wake. Fog lifted from the surface of the water presenting an odd scene. Aron marvelled at the three forms of water on display. 'Does the river, ice, and fog recognize themselves as dimensions of their being?'
Aron never experienced the like in his eighty-some years of life near the water. He thanked the winds for bringing him to the show.
As he continued to contemplate the scene, a kind of steam or fog rose from the top of Aron's head like a genie escaping he bottle. Aron somehow witnessed this also and smiled. He understood while the river, its ice, and fog are comprised of the same hydrogen and oxygen atoms they did not interact with each other. They couldn't if they wanted to because not one of them possessed the power to cross over from one dimension to be with another. Fog would condensate and ice would melt, rejoining them to their source. The fog rising from Aron grew and grew until it dissipated.
Soon a young man walking his dog approached Aron's bench. The dog sauntered over to be petted by Aron say hello, but Aron, still smiling, reunited with his source.
'This weather isn't so bad,' he told himself as he sat on his favorite bench. An icebreaker plowed a path through the ice for other boats making their usual upriver journey. Huge chunks of ice left floating, bobbed in the wake. Fog lifted from the surface of the water presenting an odd scene. Aron marvelled at the three forms of water on display. 'Does the river, ice, and fog recognize themselves as dimensions of their being?'
Aron never experienced the like in his eighty-some years of life near the water. He thanked the winds for bringing him to the show.
As he continued to contemplate the scene, a kind of steam or fog rose from the top of Aron's head like a genie escaping he bottle. Aron somehow witnessed this also and smiled. He understood while the river, its ice, and fog are comprised of the same hydrogen and oxygen atoms they did not interact with each other. They couldn't if they wanted to because not one of them possessed the power to cross over from one dimension to be with another. Fog would condensate and ice would melt, rejoining them to their source. The fog rising from Aron grew and grew until it dissipated.
Soon a young man walking his dog approached Aron's bench. The dog sauntered over to be petted by Aron say hello, but Aron, still smiling, reunited with his source.
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