Thoughts in the Rain

They sat at the entrance of the cave as the rain poured down, Iago chewing on some fennel and Quasimodo absently tapping his fingers on his leg. "Well," Quasimodo finally said, "you must admit we needed the rain; the woods were getting pretty dry."

Iago let out a deep, long sigh. "Rain or no, I don't think it makes any difference. These woods, these indescribable woods, I don't think they need rain or sun or... or anything. I think these woods are self-sustaining, complete onto themselves. They'll survive, unchanged, long after we're nothing but rodent-gnawed bones. I tell you this, too: sometimes I think this forest is sentient... a conscious organism always watching us... maybe even laughing at us. The sun, this rain, even you and I, maybe we're all just ephemeral, transitory amusements to this eternal forest... all, all of us... just a joke, a momentary smile on the face of eternity."

"Well, even I have to admit that it seems we've been wandering these woods for eons. But there's no need to become morose about it. You have to admit the woods are beautiful, so beautiful I doubt they'd maliciously laugh at us, risible as we may deem we be."

Iago smiled at his friend. "You know I'm always morose. Sure, I'll admit the woods do have some beauty to them, but that's only because most mysteries, by their very nature, have an intrinsic beauty to them. Even you and I may have some beauty to us, if one only knew how to look."

Quasimodo laughed. "Well, I may have some discoverable beauty, some well-hidden allure even. But you?"

"Well, maybe once upon a time, long ago. Or at least grant me I at once had the potential for beauty."

"Indeed, my friend! We all do... or did. But can leopards such as us ever change out spots? Can our old souls ever reclaim our long-lost innate beauty? Can we ever even hope?"

Iago stared up at the sky, at the falling rain, a puzzling expression on his face. "Maybe," he whispered, "the cleansing rain from above can cleanse the dirty things of the earth, might wash off the grime, might... restore what was lost." He stood up and turned to Quasimodo and smiled in spite of himself. "You old scalawag, you! Do you think it's worth a try?"

Quasimodo also rose. "Even in eternity," he smiled, "there's no time like the present." And so, arm in arm, they walked out into the rain and back into the endless woods.