The Far View

THE FAR VIEW Of this quaint mountain village sparks a longing strain lay dormant these many years. Was it some childhood visit, one too early to recall, or existence in another life? The two, to my searching soul, ever close together. A white steeple pokes through, rising from a wealth of green. The instant sensation, deja vu. I’m standing at the edge of Castle Lookout – so said a sign – a mountain promontory surrounded by jack pine, and the cozy little town – if you could call it a town – lay half buried in verdant summer wealth, purple mountains distant. All one may see of dwellings are white sidings and reddish roofs, save for one large two-story quite near. I could swear I see a lad and his dog on a patch of meadow But no. He’s disappeared. A flash! An instant panoramic spectacle, an all encompassing vision covers, blots-out the town, the distant purple mountains, every waking sight. I am playing with the lad and his dog, throwing a stick for some fetch it game. His name is, Tommy, and I know him well, both he and his family. And for just that instant – superimposed – I walk those village streets, hear a park band in the square and wave at familiar folk. It has been given when a person falls from some high place his whole life strings into consciousness. Yes, but this too-real-apparition has other-worldly quality. No childish imagination pervades the montage. It is that of my mature self, save playing with the boy and his dog, which reaches back even more mysteriously. I sense all at very depth of soul. The traveler is not my present self. He has appeared from some other port of call too distant in time to name. Now I’m back, visitor on a whim, and deigned experience what few have gone the crystal ball route. How polar different I feel walking back to my car. I am almost reluctant to leave, the two-entity identity still with me, but I get in, start her up, and drive onto the highway with a wide-eyed shrug for that glimpse of transcendental history. Dave Austin