…but he never heard the end of that breath. It was hidden under the gentle breeze that swept across his back.
His brow furrowed, but it wasn't because he felt the grass underneath his left cheek and against his ear. Nor was it because he felt that same grass along the undersides of his arms.
No, he felt the grass against his chest and stomach. Did they take his shirt? Before he opened his eyes, he noticed the slight pressure against his chest. The bottle was still there, hidden between his chest and the ground.
"Going to explain yourselves?" he asked, and opened his eyes. Blades of grass threatened his vision with their points. Unable to focus on them, he tried to send his attention beyond at the rest of the patch of green.
"And you moved me." He muttered to himself.
Lifting his head, he smelled the mixture of the lawn and that breeze. Pushing the upper half of his body from the ground, he propped himself up on his elbows. He didn't have to squint in order for his eyes to adjust. The light here never hurt.
So he looked upon what he had hoped for.
Ahead, the grass continued and then dropped off. Between that bank and the opposite one was a river he knew well. It flowed from the right to the left: from regions he did not know, to places he heard stories of.
On that other bank and heading up river, he saw the tall stalks of sugarcane. Their roots suckled from the mud and shallow depts where the bank had crumbled. This patch sprawled on up the river until it mingled with the large-leafed shrubs that enjoyed the same type of mix of soil and water. Though these neighbors were merely the ushers in the foyer, barring the sugarcane entrance to the forest. The much taller oaks and cypress dominated the rest of the river's upper regions, and even confiscated a portion down river. Though, the line made a wide birth from the sugarcane, opening a spot for the small village.
Peering between the canes, he could see the huts of wood and straw. His smile faltered a little as he tried to spot some of the inhabitants, finding none yet. That was unusual. He didn't even hear the clucking of chickens or the bleating of goats.
Pushing himself up higher, he lifted his gaze above the oaks and cypress behind the huts. The side of the mountain there was green. The grass like that which he was lying on climbed its way to the top. There he found the landmark that had a name. While the ridge of the mountain flowed almost as even as the river below, that spot above the village dipped as though a giant had taken a bite out of it.
The river acted as a boarder, as did the forest up river. The bank stretched open for a ways down river until meeting another forest. Visitors could arrive by boat, but the true gate was there in that crevasse above.
Happy he was to see all of this, but it wasn't enough to make him forget what they did. "I still have it in my hand. See?"
Still holding the bottle in his right hand, he lifted it as if presenting the gift to the village. "You took the wrong thing."
Scanning the huts he could see, he waited for a response. Surely they heard him. After all, they knew he was here.
Movement drew his eyes to the left. At the edge of the sugarcane, something rose up into view. His heart leaped, and he started to smile again. It was one of the villagers. She wore an apron with a towel resting along her shoulders and neck. Her hair was bound in a wrap, stained with dirt and sweat, so she lifted a portion of the towel to wipe at her face.
In her other hand was a basket. Even from the other side of the river, he knew it would be full of chopped sugarcane. He waited for her to look in his direction and greet him, but instead she bend forward and retrieved her tools with her free hand.
His smile didn't falter, but his brow furrowed at this. He started to just call out to her. He knew her name, but then someone else bounced into view from the direction of the village. Joining the lady at the edge of the sugarcane was a little girl. Dressed just like her mother, her apron was a bit more baggy, but the wrap upon her head was snug.
Since the little girl was facing his way, her eyes shifted from her mother and across the river.
His smile grew.
The little girl pointed at him. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he prepared a smile. When the woman looked his way, she had to take a moment to recognize him. When she did, her eyes lit up.
But she did not smile. He saw that she wanted to. Her
mouth even opened like she was going to shout a greeting across the way, but she had yet to smile.
His smile dropped, but he held onto it for her. At last, she lifted her arm, still holding her tools in her hand. It was at least a greeting, but….
Before she lowered her hand, he saw her eyes lift to focus on something behind him. Something way up high. He turned his head around.
Opposite the village, where the grass stretched on a short ways and then met the forest, sat his building. It was just inside the boundary line, and it sat the way it was supposed to.
The physical world only showed so much of the actual plans he had for it. Here on this acre of lawn, the building was unfinished. It was a set of ideas. It was a cascade of potential.
But he saw why they had moved him. It was so he could see the other structure.
Unable to bask in the thrill of what was actually there for his business, he lifted his eyes, leaving it. Standing just inside
the bordering forest, perfectly aligned with his building, was a tower.
Or was it to be referred to as a column. A cylinder of grey stone, the diameter constant from the hidden base on up, its height disappeared into that blue sky.
So yes, a column or pillar, supporting something above even this place could not conceive. It hadn't been there before. Neither had his building, but his plans changed that. This tower was someone else's plan.