Once, the spirit sang of a wedding between worlds. There are fields that burn, there are cities swallowed whole, and in each of these seasons, new questions arise. The purpose of the audience—of each great congregation—is to watch and try to understand. There are seasons of birds and of seeds spread by the winds, and these are meant to let the souls speak the necessary truths.

After a season of flame, the doors were born to usher in the next bloom.

When the winter sleeted in, the doors were meant to hibernate.

In death, there is life.

In life, there is all.

Everything has a season.

13

Professor Collins was a Black woman who challenged Ayanna’s understanding of age. Her face looked young and smooth, she laughed often and, for an academic, seemed unusually focused on having fun. Her hair was a mix of grays and whites and piled on top of her head into a braid crown. When Ayanna entered her office with Felix, Professor Collins hugged Felix and acted like an aunt. He should eat more, how were his grades, should he be here right now or should he be studying for midterms? Ayanna had never seen an older person who looked so cool in her black jeans, black T-shirt, black boots, and bright waxed cotton-print blazer thrown over her shoulders. Most of her professors wore plain blue sweaters and overpriced brown dress sneakers with big white soles.

After a few more questions like that, she sent Felix to the marked-off woods to take photos, record observations, and meditate within its bounds and write down any “unusual phenomena” he might experience. Then, her red glasses sliding down her nose, Professor Collins turned back to Ayanna.

“How much do you know about the work we do here?”

“I don’t, really,” Ayanna said. “Felix has told me things.”

Professor Collins laughed, though Ayanna didn’t think what she had said was funny.

The office was painted a rich blue; with the blinds closed and the room illuminated by a paper table lamp of deep orange and a bamboo floor lamp, it seemed to have the texture of velvet. There was a large painting in her office, black background, shapes of many different blues—aqua, cerulean, navy, cornflower—and light yellow. A Post-it note next to it had the words The courage to venture to the edge of reason on it. Ayanna’s postmodernism professor had a cross-stitch on the wall that read The most important arguments you can have are with yourself.

“Let me tell you how I came to this,” Professor Collins said. Her voice had a little rasp to it. Ayanna assumed Professor Collins must have seen the meadows or even walked through the door. The room was clearly speaking to that space. Ayanna was torn between admiring the place and wanting to immediately walk out.