...Gableplunk woke in the early morning. After breakfast he wrote Vergil a note and tucked it into his pack until he could post it.
...He explored the house and found his expectations fulfilled: most of the furniture, for which he'd offered extra thousands, remained. He felt pleased, with the house, with himself. Crossing the yard he sniffed the air. The sun warmed the new day. Dampness would clear and it'd be cool and dry.
...Gableplunk pulled the bolt on the barn doors and tried to swing them open. Rotted leaves and damp earth had to be cleared from the door's path. Inside his nostrils dilated. The intense odor of damp hay assaulted him. The barn had been shut up for weeks. He looked up. The loft door was open and the sun streamed into the interior.
...He peered into the gloom in the rear. The vague outline of a carriage waxed and waned as fine grains of dry hay rained to the ground. Blown by an undetectable wind, they obscured the wagon behind a golden waterfall.
...He pulled the carriage into the light and examined it. Wood needed to be cut to replace spokes and rotted sideboards. The hubs needed grease. He couldn't find a harness.
...Gableplunk made a list of supplies and tools to make repairs. The roof of the house was new; the barn's needed repair. The coops behind the barn needed chicken wire. A new bolt for the loft door. Shovels, brooms, woodworking tools for the carriage and jammed doors in need of planing.
...He climbed the stone formation shadowing the drive from the mid-morning sun. The house and barn lay below and behind him. Above the tree-tops, Gableplunk viewed the entire valley. Rainbows shimmered in the distance near the river still shrouded in the morning mist. He sat cross-legged on the dark stone. The sun was drying the rock, changing its colors to lighter ones. Patches of moss appeared as the sun climbed higher, heating crevices no longer in shadow. In the late morning crispness Gableplunk climbed down, drank from the pump and set off on the road to the old man's.
...The sun climbed towards its zenith. Gableplunk passed a house below the road. It seemed to be boarded up; he was undecided; it may have been shadows on the windows.
...The road was almost overgrown in places. It was difficult to keep his footing on the sides of the deep ruts. Seeking the peak of the ridge with his eyes, he stumbled into a dry mud-hole.
...By noon he'd climbed the old man's drive. Their houses were similar: wooden structures with stone foundations.
...Gableplunk crossed the open veranda and knocked on the door. He knocked twice more before walking to the back of the house. The old man was in the barn. His arms shuttled back and forth over a wooden bench. Steam flowed from a pipe jutting from a window.
...Gableplunk approached. The old man was ankle deep in wood shavings. The smell of freshly-cut wood was pleasant. Gableplunk entered the working area after knocking.
...The old man looked up and smiled. "Good morning."
...Gableplunk agreed and asked what he was working on.
..."Wine casks. Orders'll be coming in steadily from now until the autumn harvests. I make most of the casks you find thirty miles in any direction. Come in. Let me show you my shop."
...Gableplunk followed him inside. The barn was divided into two sections: one for horses and carriages, and the other into a well-lit working area. Hoops of all sizes hung on the wall. Fine wood hammers and hammers with rubber heads lay beside wooden dowels, saws and drills. A steam box for wetting and heating the staves spewed hot gases out the window. Clamps of various sizes, some adjustable and fully three meters long hung nearby. Heavy vise-like machines were bolted to another table near the entrance. On tracks, they could be rotated to apply constant pressure to the steam-treated staves. After bending, the staves were held in place until they dried.
...The old man explained the process, the cutting and shaping, the steam bending, drying and final assembly. In a few days he'd have the first cask of the season. He invited Gableplunk to come by and sample the wines he received from the people who were pleased with his work. Gableplunk thanked him.
...Looking around, he was amazed by his companion's energy. The old man watched him as he turned and walked around the shop again.
..."I'm not so old my work surprises you, am I?"
...Gableplunk was startled and a little embarrassed. "I like your work very much. I've never seen anything like it."
..."Come into the sunlight. It's damp in the shop and the sun's warm." Gableplunk followed him out.
..."The electric machines do the heavy work. I do the planing and fine work. It's really very easy after the first thousand barrels."
...Gableplunk laughed and explained his predicament. Would he be kind enough to let him use his wagon to go into town?
..."Of course. Come, I'll help you hitch up the horses, unless you believe you can do it alone."
..."I wouldn't think of it. I'm sure you've certain subtle nuances in your hitching that the horses are accustomed to. I wouldn't dream of depriving you of the pleasure of knowing they're hitched up just as you like."
..."You city-slickers are all alike. Glib talkers but no sense. Why, you know as well as I how to hitch a horse to a wagon but today I'm going to give you a special rig- one the horses push instead of pull and when you get to town, sit up straight and let the people admire you."
...They laughed and bantered while readying the four-wheeler. Soon Gableplunk was sitting in the high seat. He urged the horses towards the road then waved to the old man standing in the sun. The horses flexed their great shoulders, allowing the harness to settle. Familiar with the ride to town, they maintained their own pace with no urging from the driver.
...Gableplunk followed the road to the northern turn-off. The only road out of the valley, it zig-zagged through the forest, adding elevation with each change in direction. Slowly the carriage climbed towards the ridge. He shared the peak with only the sun. The forest hadn't thinned as expected and the trees obscured the view of the outlying countryside.
.....The descending road seemed to be steeper and had fewer sharp turns. The serenity of the valley overflowed the ridge. It flowed silently like molten treasure and Gableplunk fell under its spell. Soundlessly and without motion, three creatures in transition descended the mountain.
...The land leveled and Gableplunk emerged from the forest behind the town. The road changed into two. He took the left fork. Within a short distance, he felt the jar and sudden smoothness of pavement, heard the clip-clopping of horses' shoes on the hard surface.
...Soon he arrived at the back streets behind the shops. He found a wide alley and backed the carriage in, leaving the horses in cool shadows.
...Only a few hours of daylight remained and Gableplunk hurried through town to the furniture shop, grocery and hardware stores. The proprietors were willing to send boys to the alleyway. They placed Gableplunk's purchases in the carriage, tying down the bulkier items and covering them with the canvass Gableplunk had carried with him.
...The spring light faded early. As Gableplunk emerged from the last store, he felt the shops closing. One by one, lights were extinguished. The hum of voices diminished. He sat on a bench and watched as cars came to life and swelled the stream of vehicles moving away from the center of town.
...He sat quietly for a time as the evening grew darker, more silent. Only a few stores remained open; only a few people crossed the streets. Suddenly the lamps flickered and artificial lights came on. Brightly-colored neons appeared in the distance, first at one end of the village, then the other. Like a moth to a flame, Gableplunk moved towards the first signs of the nightlife.
...He peered through the glass of one tavern, then another and finally entered a third. A large room. Two people were sitting at opposite ends. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered in clusters. Gableplunk sat at the tap. He ordered a stein and drank immediately. Flushed and suddenly relaxed, he asked the barman, "Do you expect a crowd tonight?"
..."No, not tonight; I'll be closing early."
.. .Gableplunk felt comfortable in the new place. He ordered again and dropped a coin into the music box. The volume was low. Headlights from a turning car reflected from the mirror into Gableplunk's eyes. The barman drew curtains across the windows.
...The music played out and Gableplunk sat in silence. One or two people walked in and out. Only the two original customers remained at opposite ends of the room.
...Gableplunk tipped the barman and said good-night. Rising and walking to the door, he brushed his palm over the rough surface of one of the wooden tables. He left his tracks in the sawdust. The night was cool as he walked to the alleyway.
...Gableplunk reached the carriage and rubbed the horses' shoulders. He fed each a lump of sugar, climbed into the high seat and slapped the reins lightly across their backs. The moon was bright and the streets well-lit. It was a long drive to the valley. He'd work to do before the evening was done.
...The carriage creaked and the horses had to strain with the load, Up, up they pulled. The ridge seemed miles away, though it could be seen from almost any place in the village.
...The grade increased as they neared the top. The horses wheezed and Gableplunk stopped to rest. He feared he'd overburdened the animals and hoped they'd make the ridge without injury. He drove them slower and slower as the slope increased. From experience, they, too, realized the need. They were strong and their steps small. Powerful muscles pulled them steadily until they reached the top and rested unburdened.
...The descent by moonlight was easier. The forces pulling the carriage downwards were counterbalanced as the wheels sank into the gravel in the ruts. Only a small force was needed to keep the carriage in constant motion. Although Gableplunk's confidence in the great beasts' control grew with each passing meter, from tension he was drenched in sweat by the time they reached level ground. Only a short journey remained, over the bridge and home to the barn where Gableplunk unloaded the carriage. He walked the horses until they were cool, then rubbed them down. He led them to stalls he'd cleaned earlier in the day, watered and fed them and sank into a deep sleep on the bed in the center of the barnyard.

...The morning dew soaked through the blankets and Gableplunk awoke chilled. Spring days warmed quickly and soon he'd breakfasted and begun work. Hours slipped by. In the late morning he returned the horses and carriage. By afternoon he'd begun to clean out the house and a working area in the barn. Hours slipped into days. He repaired the old two-wheeled carriage, replacing broken or rotted wood, removing the hubs, greasing the bearings.
...The days were warm and the evenings cool. Gableplunk bought a horse and saddle from a farmer he'd met in town. He arranged to stable him with the old man during his absence. With only the sun for a companion, Gableplunk spent his days idyllically, working and exploring the valley on horseback. He descended into the caves until he feared losing his way and made minor repairs on the old wooden bridge at the east end of the valley. In the afternoons he hiked to the south ridge and climbed a high tree to scan the surrounding countryside. When the day was still warm he bathed in the river. When the evenings were cool he set a blaze in the fireplace, played and wrote music.
...And always there was meditation. On the rocks he sat in half-lotus and meditated until the sun became too hot to remain. Sitting in a tree he meditated until the evening wind chilled him. He meditated cross-legged by the river until the dampness made his limbs ache and in the loft at any time of the day or night, always reaching deeper, seeking newer paths. Seeking peace and serenity, Gableplunk listened to his heart beat and the rhythm of his breathing. And always there was the silence, the deepest core where no motion existed. And he learned to sit with the silence, be one with it, and the silence flowed to him and Gableplunk smiled, his eyes crinkled with a great liveliness.
...Often his mind wandered. Plagued by a sense of the iniquities that existed in the world, his mind created conflicts that couldn't be reconciled. He had no sense of unity. He felt only separation. Experiencing himself through the eyes of others, he felt sadness at not being able to be seen- No one sees me. I must be invisible. Are we all invisible to each other? No. I see other people. Why do I feel like I'm not recognizable? - an empty loneliness at a disapproving glance- Why am I not worthy of approval? Why do others not approve of themselves and thence me? Aren't these childhood conditionings? Why must I confront myself over and over until my understanding becomes a stake driven into my own heart? Because I MUST, until all the poison's gone- and a searing anger when he couldn't turn events to his favor. Like the Pavlovian dog, he salivated at the ringing of a bell, yet cringed inwardly and became ever so much smaller each time he heard the chime.
......What am I that I must ever seek other's approval? What am I that I'm a separate being yet will do what others ask if only they'll give me their love and I'll hate myself for it? And what's this duality, this schism between me and the world, between the longing for love and the hatred in its absence? If only I could die and be at peace, yet death, too, is an impenetrable wall, an invisible existence and I can only find a moment's solace with its consideration. And what is it to will the truth of my own actions, the effort to conform to an image, this time my own and not another's? Where's the truth of my soul in this? Where's my uniqueness? And what's my power if I have none? I'm faceless in the face of the world. I can't even make the smallest event conform to my expectations. These are the illusions of my existence. Like the magician who uses mirrors, where am I that I'm only an image and can't find myself?
...The surface of the wooden table in the tavern came to Gableplunk's mind. He hitched up the carriage and took the west route to the ridge road, the journey faster with a light two-wheeler. As the sun began to set, he reached the back streets. He found his way to the rear of the tavern and tethered his horse near the uncut grasses in the yard. Music was playing. Gableplunk felt a rising expectation. He opened the door and stepped up to the wooden floor.
...The room was semi-crowded. Gableplunk found a seat at the bar. He could see most of the tavern and watched the people at the tables. Couples and friends sat at the square tables. The larger ones were occupied by groups. He caught the barmaid's eye and ordered wine with bread and cheese. Sounds of music and voices blended in a pleasant hum. The wine was light and clear and soon Gableplunk ordered again. Warmth coursed through him and he felt lighthearted. The music was gay; the people seemed happy. First the couples attracted Gableplunk's attention, then the people at the larger tables. Two people were bending towards each other, perhaps whispering a secret; others were laughing over a joke someone had told. His gaze swept the room, the bar, the door each time new arrivals entered. His attention returned again and again to a group of people in the corner.
...He couldn't find a reason. They weren't unusual in any way. They were laughing and drinking. Often one rose and crossed the room to the bar. He felt drawn to them and wanted to go to their table, but how could he? A stranger in the tavern, he knew no one and felt ill at ease at the thought of introducing himself. Slowly his sense of separation began to grow. There was nothing he could do to ease it.
...He left. Cool air refreshed him. The street was deserted. He was blinded for a moment by the glare of a car turning the corner. Standing quietly until his senses adjusted to the change, he heard faint shouting and laughter. He turned until he found the direction and walked towards the sounds.
...They were happy sounds. As he neared, they became louder. He turned a corner. A great crowd had filled a partially fenced-in field. Bright lights flooded the evening. People streamed between wooden platforms. A carnival! Strange sounds and smells filled the night air and Gableplunk was pulled by the crowd into the entrance.

My dearest Love,
...How I want to be loved. Tonight I drove my carriage into town and spent most of the evening at a local tavern. It was crowded and I felt uncomfortable at first; then the old devil distance set in.
...I left the tavern and followed the man-smell until I came to a carnival. On a small raised platform at the entrance a Barker was waving his hands in the air and shouting to the passersby. I couldn't hear him at first so I imagined he was shouting, "Get 'cha new metaphors here! New metaphors for old! Get 'cha new metaphors here!" "I hope the new ones are better than the old," I thought. The sounds and smells were lovely and I was swept in by the street crowds, yet I felt distant, unable to be one with the people who were enjoying the evening fun, laughing, playing the games of chance and buying tickets for the rides. I stepped into the shadows beside a tent and found my way through the back streets to the tavern.
...The crowd thinned soon after I returned until only I, a few other customers and the barmaid Mara were left. She asked, "Why haven't I seen you before?" and I replied, "Because you're too beautiful." She reminded me so much of you. There doesn't seem to be enough love to go around.
...The drive home was uneventful. My horse and I- I bought a horse and saddle from a local farmer- we followed the winding road over the ridge and back to the valley. In the house I lit candles and tried to cheer myself up but it was lonely. I took my guitar and a candle, climbed the rocks nearby and sang

"Sweet Release"

...I enclose the lyrics because they speak of death and though I know death won't be an acceptable subject for you, I do enclose them in the hope you'll understand my sufferings.
...When the damp night air caused my guitar to go out of tune and even the moon and the rocks became distant and lonely things I climbed down to the house to sleep perchance to dream.
...My dearest love, this is a letter that'll never be posted for you exist only as a figment, an unfulfilled image of my past and future. In my loneliness I love you more than you know, ~ G.