Uncertain Distance: Regarding a Strange Light in the Window

Often, it's the subtle elements that remain the most prominent in our experience, shadows falling in strange ways, locations that don't quite align with the known world, and time that disappears without warning.

People sometimes ask about the most unexpected things I've encountered as a nomad, the oddities that arise from endless wandering. In truth, life on the road is often mundane, errands and ordinary places being the better part of my experience. However, there have been a few occasions of strangeness, interludes that arrived in unison with nightfall, as if on cue.

As I've mentioned previously, my journey through Silver Lake, Oregon and the Deschutes National Forest was memorable, not least for the magnificent landscapes, the fragrance of burning pine, and the company of so many welcoming locals. Like no other destination, the rural town--with its decaying wooden structures and pastoral ambience--conveyed beauty as well as tragedy. And one location stands out in my memory, even now.

It was nearly 2am, and one of my dogs needed to go outside, into the waiting shadows and distant howls of coyotes. I shuttered. After situating her leash, I cautiously opened the front door and surveyed the darkness. Everything seemed to be in order. We proceeded, and she began her ritual of sniffing the air and staring into the night, transfixed by things unseen. Not long after urging her to hurry, with predators looming in all directions, I paused and glanced to the north with a sense of curiosity. At that moment, my attention was fully captured.

Who lives out there, behind the tall grass and the farm machines that served another century?

Late though it was, a warm glow issued from the distance as I studied the elements before me; a pitched roof in the foreground and drooping tree limbs in the yard; wood tracing the outline of a neighboring house and something else, as well, something quite compelling.

The second story of the building came into view as I adjusted my gaze. It was beautiful and resonated with a strange vitality, which seemed odd, as I expected everyone to be asleep by that hour. As the dog continued sniffing and searching for a spot to finish her business, I stared into the neighbor's upper window, which had the aura of another time, a pinkish light flowing beyond its edges, suggesting the presence of old books and tea cooling in a grandmother's cup. The scene was peaceful, albeit very much at odds with the night that surrounded us, with its cool sense of foreboding. But there was a problem.

As I recalled from daylight hours, all of the buildings in that area were single-story.

While standing silently in the uncertain darkness, I made a point of looking away to search for the silhouette of mountains, forms that remained consistent regardless of the hour. Happily, I found them. Then, I looked back towards the house only to discover the inevitable, that the glowing second story was still there, waiting to be seen and appreciated for its strangeness.

Soon, the mood broke and my awareness returned to the moment.

So intrigued had I been by the spectacle--the haunting of a window in the distance--that I had ignored my dog, who had begun to whine for a return to the RV. And with that, the mystery would remain for a short time, until daylight arrived to clarify things.

If you guessed that I arose early, to look across the open land and search for the window, you would be correct. And, likewise, if you suspect that I found nothing but a single-story house with no upper rooms, once again, you would be right. Actually, I did find a few things in the daylight that matched my experience of the previous night; a sense of unease remained with terrible persistence, and a host of unmanicured trees still whispered sorrowful things, even in the soft shades of morning.

Distance can often feel uncertain. Although I estimated the old structure to be a quarter mile away, something about the upstairs window felt much closer, as if the physical distance had decreased while, somehow, the time had expanded and grown more ominous; I had the strange sensation of peering far away, into another era, observing history through an open window--a figment, a reminder of something very old.

I did not search for the strange vision on the following night, as mysteries sometimes dissolve into disappointment when examined too closely; or just as often, they transform and distort in unwholesome ways, taunting all who attempt to solve them. Suffice it to say that something lingers in the town of Silver Lake, Oregon, in the shape of collective memory and waits in the early morning hours, something which, perhaps, ought to be forgotten.