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The stuff that will potentially bring out nightmares

It was exactly the kind of existential clarity you can expect a child to produce without even blinking an eye, beaming its effervescent light with an orbit of innocence by design on the dark vortex otherwise pulling me down, visiting this part of Les Pierres, on the Southwest side. It used to have a spectacular view over the valley and a luminescence that distinctively moved me, no matter what or when, but it has completely lost its allurement on me due to the circumstances.

“So, if I take away these stones…”, he kicked off and I immediately held myself accountable for bringing them there, bad idea, the stuff that will potentially bring out nightmares, “…I will see Fos again?”
His slightly older brother quickly rerouted this horrifying suggestion with rejection, but he was not going to let it go, consistently seeking activity and adventure.
“But if we dig deeper?”
It was up to me to nip this in the bud, so I replied as casually as possible.
“Not him, his skeleton, maybe. Best to leave it be”.
“Cool, okay”.

We spent a few moments in silence, while pondering whether this was the best educational way to offer them a true understanding of the fact that this dog would never return. He was never veridically their pal and they were not particularly fond of him, somewhat interested at best, so why confront them with my pain, why bother? Besides, I generally perceive musing at a gravesite to be such an invasive, darkening sentiment, burdensome to break free from, a pretense of comfort, but this little boy clearly disagreed with me.
“Franck? Do you think Fos would mind that I now love his bones more than I loved him?”

The visit of our friends and their two philosophers has been weeks ago, but just now am I beginning to realize what has changed, like a phantasm presenting itself at a distance, afterwards, or a blanket lifted.

I find myself coming back to this remote corner of our property more frequently, rediscovering its splendor and opportunities, often accompanied by our Rebel, his buddy, who instinctively never found himself in the dark about all this belated perspicuity, never avoided the place to begin with.

Nothing is really left or truly buried here.


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