its the place where they cross going to or from either side of the ether. most of these gates look like obvious passages—appearing as doors or real gates. some are almost unnoticeable being hidden as trees or large rocks. but all the gates have one thing in common—they always have two “pillars” with symbols and inscriptions written in an aged, almost forgotten language.

most of these gates have their own guardians who keep track of who or what comes and goes. they’re also responsible for keeping the gates hidden away from prying eyes which should be easier these days. many people have forgotten how to see beyond what their sight shows them.

it was just my luck that my nana was one of those keepers. i often would help her clean up at the end of the day and in exchange she would tell me stories of the people she has met and the places that she’s set foot on. her stories always held me in fascination.

i was with her one summer solstice night several years ago when naala arrived through the gate. there were only a handful of folks who crossed that day and she as the last to arrive. as soon as she saw me she gave me an angry, piercing stare like i wasn’t suppose to exist.

she just stopped long enough to acknowledge my nana with a nod and then she was gone.

my nana looked at me, “what did you do? she looked angry at you.”

“nothing. i didn’t do anything.” and i looked back at where she was standing last.

nana just said, “mmmmm…” and went back to cooking the rice.