sculpture

July 16. 1932

Howard Meriwether spent the better part of the day climbing up to that hot spring. When he finally scurried over the loose scree and into the brilliant blue air above the tree line, he was fairly spent, his legs not much more than boneless appendages. He stripped and stepped through the rising white vapors. His ass slid over polished rocks, and came to rest at the perfect depth. All around him jagged peaks rose, and glaciers hung like pieces of blue-green beach glass wedged in the valleys. It was not long before his eyes closed and he became like a cloud, hovering between the seen and the unseen. For how long he was in this state he did not calculate. As the sun slid behind the greatest of the granite peaks, shadows rolled down over the vast snowfields that surrounded him. A frigid wind swooped down and when Howard finally awoke some time later, the air around him was as wintry as any in February. He leapt out of the pool and was shocked by what greeted him. He began to dress but his clothing, laughingly minimal for this sudden season, was already stiff. Dusk was upon him. He looked about, began to shiver, and stepped back into the pool. He quickly realized that he had but one option.
For the rest of the night Howard Meriwether remained submerged in the vaporous waters that smelled mildly of boiled eggs. He watched the stars slide across the July sky. He observed the fingernail moon glide silently above him. When his hair frosted, when his lashes crystallized, he simply lowered himself beneath the steaming water and laughed, sending perfect orbs of his breath up to the surface to explode softly into the blue night.


(Augustin Pajou, "Portrait of a Man")