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He loosened his neck.

He loosened his neck.

He did this whenever he would otherwise be relaxed.

“My remindance of life,” he would say, if ever he were asked– not yet, no, but if so.

His hands, having completed their task, left his neck for his horse’s.

He gave himself more time to ponder if anyone would ask, and began placing the odds on his Mother, if she were to see him again. He realized her odds were not realistic and revised them.

Many on the path he took had not seen their mothers again, he thought; he is now another numbered soul, lasting so long as someone else wonders who had been on this path.

Being from his town, he gave no more thought to loneliness, and remembered how far he yet had to travel.

Farther down the path, or up and down if taking into account the gully his horse just trod through, he sought a sign he was headed where he should be.

He loosened his neck.

Soft crackles emanated from beneath his hands.

Satisfied, he continued looking forward, forging through a landscape he would, if not focused, have grown to appreciate.

He wondered, if he were to be hanged, if his neck would snap quicker or give him time to reminisce longer. He had heard of the flashbacks, but only from those who had not died.

Odd, he thought, how others can know such occurrences without having had them. Then, he could know a fish breathes underwater without doing so himself. He liked his comparison, and tilted forward in his saddle a bit.

Again, he wondered if he would be able to remember all he could. He started to visualize his youngest self, though could not discern memory from story.

He loosened his neck.

Seeing as he had not done enough to be hanged, he found comfort in the length of life yet lived, and let his memories fade into his background.

He loosened his neck.

Stiff, he thought. It may be that he should stop.

He leaned back in his saddle, the man who had all he owned with him, and looked around. [letting focus fade into his background]

Hello, memory's hidden sights

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