I blinked. The reflection held.
The brochure didn't mention any of that. 2poles 1hole
The brochure called it Two Poles, One Hole —a minimalist art installation tucked at the end of a gravel path in a forest no one remembered to name. I went because my girlfriend said it changed her, and because I had nothing better to do on a Tuesday. I blinked
Then I shifted my weight, and the light changed. A cloud moved. The sun slid through the trees at a different angle, and suddenly the two poles cast shadows that touched across the hole. The shadows didn't just meet—they interlocked , like fingers lacing. And the hole, which had been empty, now held a reflection of the sky. Not the sky above, but a different sky: bruised purple, with a moon I didn't recognize. The brochure called it Two Poles, One Hole
I haven't told my girlfriend. She already knows.