Impossible, Unlikely and Foolish.

Two brothers.

The first, driving towards the hills at sunset. The sky a crimson edge below cobalt blue.

The second, walking amongst pine trees towards the sea. The almost full moon a creamy silvery disc reflecting on the water.

Both elsewhere, one just a little further. 

Behind the driver, a medieval hill top citadel, almost no one outside on the cobbled streets to watch him leave.

Behind the walker, a small café and a handful of people on the terrace watching him. They are wondering if he intends to swim.

He won’t, not tonight. But he will take his shoes and socks off and paddle.

The other swam a few days ago in the river. The water was ice-y, he managed twelve strokes out and twelve back. Shaking, he pulled himself onto the tree roots and shivered.

Then felt invigorated and considered returning.

He didn’t.

And tonight he continues to drive.

He is thinking about his brother.

His brother is thinking of him.

They haven’t spoken for days.

Or perhaps months.

Could it be years?

Yes.

Time has been relentless, their silence flowing between them like the river, arriving on the sand like the sea.

Before disappearing without trace.

It would not take much to break it.

One word would suffice, though one from each would be stronger.

Three, would settle things for all time.

It seems impossible.

Unlikely.

And foolish.

But so does their silence.

Each is unaware that all they need to do is turn way from the sunset, turn their back on the moon and greet a new dawn.

It may happen.