I See My Face in the Hillside

Bicycling.  The wind in my face, just a pleasing stream of confidence, of fresh wet springtime movement.  Rounding a bend, near the houses near the lake near the park, I see my face in the hillside.  Not some almost-intangible imagined likeness, as in that cloud looks like a cigar, but my actual, real face.  My cheekbones as blades of grass.  My eyebrows as craggy rock outcroppings.  My hyacinth eyes.

This may have been a dream.

Stopping, breathless, to ponder the sight, it vanishes, and is replaced by another face.  The face of a stranger, yet no less vivid than before.  It flits back and forth from male to female, teenager to elderly and back to middle aged.  It smiles, then winks at me…or is it crying?

I pedal away.  Look over my shoulder from time to time.  But it is gone.  No face remains.  I am sad at the loss of the stranger, but sadder still to not see my face yet again; how rare and beautiful that moment, to see myself in not a mirror or a silly bloated photograph.  How exquisite to feel so real.

3 Responses to “I See My Face in the Hillside”

  1. Fantastic!

  2. This is a very cool concept. :)

  3. Eerie!

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