They pulled the door shut behind them.
Their skin was still pale from the grey summer they had left behind them to seek what earthlings would call “winter sun” that was brightening the surface of the planet below one of the axises that lined their planet. The sun beams prickled and it felt like their bodies were waking up, shaking off the sorrows of the old, clearing space for new patterns and shapes.
They strolled around the corners of the large buildings, that did not make the city seem like a powerful monster, but a friendly jungle giant.
They had quite distinct features. Distinct in their differences adding to a balanced overall composition. Whilst one of them was rather tall, with long legs, the other one had incredibly short legs and tiny hands. The variety of 4 legs moved in rhythmic dance across the patterns of the pavement, making the city a mosaic of broken dreams and long forgotten worlds.
They had decided to remain in silence until they had gotten to their chosen destination. This way they could soak in the energies of the city, soak in the smells, soak in the melodious cut outs of language, that floated between the many people on the busy, yet not overly crowded streets. The atmosphere appeared to have a certain surrealness about it - on this particular day- that both of their faces, both drawn with fine, small features, were crossed by the thought that they had seen this reality before. Maybe in a dream, or during meditation, but it was nothing tangible.
It was just a certain quality, the brief afterglow that followed the images, that constructed the current state of reality.
They made their way towards a little hill. It would not be quite adequate to call it anything else, as it really was not more or less than a tiny hill. They had found it a few time units ago, when strolling about, in between the concrete walls and V-shaped windows. The hill was not very large in diameter, but it had a steep top part, which was marked by a bench and a tree, on its highest point. The tree was rather small, it had a big roof, with its arms hanging almost down to the ground. It was one of those beautiful trees, that would be used a lot in paintings from the romantic era. It had a certain sadness, but strength about it. This was where they had decided to go. Whilst the smaller one of them raced up the hill, ready to share her thought, the taller one took her time, breathing in every step, as if letting her feet lead her path instead of her visual gaze.
If one observed the two and their way of interaction, it almost made the appearance as if they were part of the same body. It was hard to grasp, but there was a peculiar natural harmony surrounding them.
When the taller one arrived on the top of the hill, the smaller one had already unwrapped the little package that held the blanket they had packed. She rolled it out below the tree. They preferred sitting on the ground below the tree so that the sound of the leaves would hug them from all sides.
After sitting down, they unpacked a thermo-bottle, two clay cups, incense sticks, cinnamon sticks, that were placed carefully in the cups, one each, and a small piece of pastry, with fresh raspberries on top and around it.
Still, they did not speak a word.
One of them took out a tulip and connected her temporal lobe with the sensors of the pistil inside the petals. This was the way to play music on planet Venus. Strange deep, but clear sounds now streamed out of the tulip’s head. “What an odd kind of music they listen to on this planet” thought the narrator, hanging above them in thin air.
They sat still and started breathing.
The colors around them got sucked into their noses and back out into their environment with their outbreath. In the inside of their heads they created beautiful mandalas. Spiraling into different versions of the same world. Adding and subtracting colors adjusted to their outer world forming the into their own subjective experiences inside their minds. Some time passed, but it was hard to tell how much, as time was not such a meaningful thing on planet Venus. Or it was - but in a very different way to what the narrator was used to and thus he did not like to go much into detail. The way moments were linked to each other was not by a coherent narrative storyline, but by a system of meaning, which made everyone’s time different, but linked together in social interaction. It was quite hard to imagine for someone, who had thought in a linear time frame for generations and generations.
What can be said is, that at one point one of them started filling the thick dark green coffee they had picked up at a small café run by a happy colorful female frog, who always wore bright colors, thick necklaces and layers and layers of red powder. She liked to use paprika spice for this specific purpose, as she also liked its smell. One could hear her croaking voice blocks away. The way she would ensure this delicious brew was by collecting the coffee beans with her tongue from the fangs of the plant, then she would put them in the sun to roast and when they had roasted just enough, she would take them inside and brew them into a steamy dark green soup, with a very flowery taste.
The two parts of one body would sit and they would share the coffee and pastry.
Then they would share their thoughts. Still no noise was to be heard by the narrator, this was due to their particular way of communicating. They connected their index and middle fingers, each forming a V shape, and through the established connection their thoughts that were meant for each other, could flow freely between their physical bodies.
Sometimes, one would slip through that was not meant to, but that was how things flowed in this world. They had much to transfer between them.