“The presence of this door—this marker—has reinforced my belief that what I seek in life is seeking me. It’s given me a gentle reminder, if you will, that there is something else beyond the looking glass. Every so often, life has a habit of placing these signposts along the way to show me that I’m on the right path. Not all the time, but from time to time. This one, in this tree, speaks to me of a future that sits inside the past. Or perhaps it’s a past that sits inside the future.”
“The past inside the future?” she asks.
“Yes. It speaks to me of the possibility of what the future brings, and how what has been will be once more. Think of the infinity sign. Think of it inside out. It’s quite a positive thing, for possibility is fertile ground for hope and creation.”
“The tree told you this?”
“Not the tree, but the door within the tree.”
“I still don’t understand why this door happens to be up this tree. I mean, it’s a very peculiar place for you to have to be to find it. If it wasn’t for Hachikō leading us here, there’s no way we would’ve become aware of its existence.”
“Yes… It’s a curious thought, isn’t it?” I say, eyeing our new found friend.
Closing my eyes as a gust of wind blows upon my face, I momentarily see a world of a billion shades of oranges and yellows. They make me think of butter on toast, and then of Van Gogh weeping beneath a sky filled with crows while slumped on his knees amidst a field of sunflowers. The toast is golden. The sunflowers more orange. I wonder if Van Gogh used to eat toast? I once read that he had terrible teeth, and had most of them taken out because they were rotten. I guess solids were not on the menu, although if the toast was dunked in coffee, it would’ve slid down a treat. Especially with all that absinthe he polished off.
“What’s curious?” she asks.
“Our bushy-tailed companion, appearing out of thin air, and then leading us to this very tree—this very tree which just so happens to have a door within it.”