The Sentinels gayatri

@Lilia

he wondered if ford and his crew were succeeding in making the bay their own. knowing that their claim was rooted in both history and desire, he kept far from the place, though did not extend that same courtesy to the charred forest. as far as he was concerned, this was neutral ground.

besides, he was intrigued by the spirits that seemed to linger here, the voices, at once far-off and nearby, of souls long gone.

govinda weaved through the place, admiring the small bursts of green that marked the emergence of new life. tiny saplings, amid the ruin. it was an apt metaphor for his own life, and he sat and stared at one such specimen, imagining that he could see it grow, slowly but surely. tiny leaves and stems, reaching toward the sky. one day, it would be as majestic as its forebears.

he wondered if it would meet the same fate as the sequoias, burned alive. he wondered if that was all there was to life--no, he knew it, a truth within the marrow of his bones.

to live, to die, to be born again only to die again. bodies reduced to nothing by flames, by floods, by flu or fangs. but bodies were only temporary; souls were forever.

how old was the soul within this sapling? how old was his?