A Searching for Something

         Kicking through the leaves.  The green canopy shades the bright sun as we walk.  My shoes are green.

         Her voice cuts through the shaded light, "Gone forever?"

         "I couldn't see any other way to approach it."  There seems to be a dark edge in my voice.

         "An unexpected approach is often the most effective way."

         We walk for several minutes in silence.  The branches dip and sway in our path as we push through the overgrown trail to the clearing ahead.  The bark is brown.  The leaves, a dark green below, soften to almost yellow above.

         Once in the clearing, the sunlight glares, erasing the darkness with a harsh, white light.  I feel that it's time to talk about this.  "There's something I'm looking for, but I can't find it."

         "This is something you need."  Her response is a statement of understanding.  I expected a question.

         "Yes, I think so."  My response is a moment slow.  She shoots a searching sideways look at me.  Her shirt is blinding red in the sun.

         Her answer comes before my thoughts coalesce, "It's not something you need on any sort of conscious level.  It's much deeper than that."

         Her insight is becoming expected.  "Yes.  Of course you know."

         We continue walking to the opposite side of the clearing.  An old tree stump hugs the forest edge.  She sits on the stump while I stand across from her.  Her pants are blue.

         She says, "What does it feel like?"

         "I don't know.  I live with it all the time, so I know it intimately, but at the same time it's unidentifiable."

         She scrutinizes me for a minute.  Then says, "You're right.  Of course I know."

         I kick at the grass between us.  It is green too.