origin of grievance; pt. 2. by that tree

(this begins with the post below; feb 11)

She was walking, observing her steps. Each step a tiny advance, and this she understood.
He was sitting, watching the sun through a tree.
The sun lit the tree and it seemed to burn red, and as the breeze moved the leaves, patchy light flicked across his face. At times he blinked sun from his eyes, and he was warm. He knew, that already, everything was dead.

She came and sat down next to him, and they sat silently for a moment.

He twitched under her gaze.

She was looking at him.

He looked at her face as it stood apart from himself and the forest: the deep green of eyes that stood behind her.

He gestured to the tree.

They looked at it together for the first time apart. What they saw was different, though they were not aware that it was.

They had never noticed the tree before; it was the first time they were to notice it, and then they noticed themselves. She wondered what he was thinking; wondered if it was the same thing on her mind? She thought about what her mind might be thinking. She stood up sharply and erect, startled, and looked at herself, standing under the tree.
Her mouth began to move and the air in her throat made sounds, but she didn't understand. She didn't know there was something there that could be understood. She knew that the sounds were coming from her, and she also knew the sound that the wind made, and the grass. The sound she made frightened her deeply but she felt no threat, just a confused urge. She stood, teetering on the edge of the one sound she thought she recognized, and lurched against herself repeating it with her own voice, falling out from under the tree and rolling once onto the fringe of grass.