My vision was blurred, but I could see that my surroundings were nothing familiar and not particularly reassuring as beautiful as they were. To my left, an old, yet sturdy church of white, with weeds taking root in one of the many foundation cracks they felt fit to call home. To my right, an enchanting field of delicate pristine white flowers and lush grass, a shade much like that of an emerald and quite as exquisite.
As a child, I was taught to focus on what or who was behind me, sleep with one eye open and trust no one. As an adult of sound mind and clear conscience, for the most part, I strove to focus on what or who was in front of me, as one cannot change the past, but can always make a brighter future. With that in mind, one would deduce that I would instinctively look behind me as a result of my surroundings, which would force me into an adolescent state of mind, feeling slightly adrift. I could not bring myself to do that. I have quite the aggressive mind and am much stronger than one would think.
I snapped from my right to focus on what lay in front of me. There she stood, once again, never-changing, never taking her gaze off of me. Hand out, ethereal in movement, yet swift in stride she advanced towards me. Being the only recognizable detail in my surroundings, I handed over my trust into her hands. As our fingers met, I felt a tiny spark, something was happening, not just inside of myself, but to her as well. For what could have been but a minute, or possibly as long as an hour, our eyes met, transfixed on one another, dismissive of anything else. Her fingers curled around mine, but only for a moment. My entire body was pulling away, with as much force as a freight train. Her face wore a dull shade of worry, which turned to fear as she swiftly slipped away. Just like that, as if a shift in the breeze, she was gone.
Standing up, turning ever so carefully to glimpse at what was behind me, I felt a smile come over my face as my eyes focused on the most comforting sight one could. Home. A path of carefully placed stones carried me on my way. I began to see more clearly, the colors turned from muted shades to vivid hints of wonder. The sun, like a beacon calling me home where I belonged never felt more cozy. The doorway stood open, inviting me in as he stepped out into the sunlight welcoming me home. I turned from careless leaps to cautious steps the closer I got, my voice began to shake as I faltered a greeting and my arms pulled back, tensely resting upon my body. His admiring eyes searched mine trying to penetrate deep into my carefully guarded consciousness giving refuge to my precious thoughts.
The next few days were but a blur of mundane duties, restless sleep and that empty feeling of knowing you have things yet to accomplish, but the frustration of not quite knowing what is needed of yourself to carry out the tasks. I can’t quite remember just how many days, sunsets or rises passed by, but my assumption led me to believe it was approximately a week.
All at once, a sweep of panic-stricken emotion came over me as I rushed to the cellar. I knew that I was to keep my senses as sharp as ever to take in every diminutive detail and catalog them for future use. From the startling cold floor to the dancing rays of light pouring in through the meager windows, I felt it all, deep within. Not one nook of that small, yet adequate room went unexamined and not one sound unheard. That is when I heard the slow steady scraping noise. Alarmed, I assumed that something or possibly someone was trying to dig their way into my cellar, but felt some relief when I realized that it was nothing but an elderly woman digging plots for her flowers close to one of the windows. I feigned a smile and waved at the woman who had started to stare at me, no doubt from the frenzy of my actions. What she did next, caught me off guard, she winked. Confusion took over my every thought as I quickly sifted through my memories for her face and came up empty. Seeing the peculiar look on my face, the woman motioned me over to the window and quickly muttered that he was watching me with a point in the direction of the old elm tree. I followed her delicately pointed finger to the man who had been at my door to greet me home.
I did not stop to think. I did not stop to ask questions. I did not stop until I had all windows and the only exit completely boarded up and blocked off. There was not a chance that I was going to allow anybody or anything to destroy my meticulously constructed plans. My mind was made up and there was work to do.
The first few times that I tried to carry myself back to that unfamiliar beautiful place from which I came, I emerged in a room much like my cellar, but more carefully guarded, better equipped and often times with people whom I knew and loved. Each time getting better, more precise and carrying fewer passengers along with me until I was once again resting on the plush emerald grass.
I was blissfully absorbing my surroundings when out of the corner of my eye, did I spy that man. My mind quickly tried to transport me back to my cellar, or even that other place somewhat like it, but I was blocked. He came, almost dancing around the corner of a larger sized elm tree, hand in hand with her. Her being my friend. The one I always saw. The one who always held me in her graceful trance. The one. Once again, confusion took over my face as they danced their way to me. This time, she gave me no attention, eyes intent on what lay before them, but lay behind me. As they passed by with a quick breeze so sweet, my body turned with them. Looking into the haze, they disappeared. I disappeared.
I will be.
It was the careless breeze of that clear day into which I walked. As I turned my face up towards the sky, the wind’s gentle caress fell upon my face with a calm so refreshing creating a luminous implosion inside of my heart. I was perhaps a bit too light on my toes, for I stumbled over an ample sized stone, when through the corner of my eye came the slightest movement. I cursed the ground and promptly looked up.
Walking slowly, ever so balletic. Intent were her eyes upon mine. Transfixed on her every motion, I was unable to move, as if by some paralysis. Those eyes, how they seduced me. The innocence of her face, how it soothed my soul into tranquility. Everything about her left me feeling as though she may crumble simply from one careless touch. I wished to hold her, feel her every heart beat as if it were mine.
Her body delicately settled on the ground beside me. As I casually glanced at her, my eyes focusing on hers, she grinned, amused by the somewhat awkward ways in which I held myself.
The two of us fell back into the soft bed of grass beneath us, just taking in the artistry of the morning’s sky.
-photo by yours truly.
What’s it like?
The smile on her face at that very moment was the most reassuring thing I had around me. The day was dark with the clouds casting a dull sepia tone upon the field in which I stood. As the wind blew her soft hair out of her face, she put out her hand. Time stood still. Even with that smile, I could see the subtle worry as she slowly looked back and forth from the field to me.
I closed my eyes, allowing the images to pass through starting out at a snail’s pace, but quickening so much so that I felt my head spin without the ability to keep up. These images were moments from my life, some of which I remembered with a rush of emotion, and others so blurred, I could only try to imagine that time. Somewhere towards the middle, I stopped recognizing my surroundings, and even myself. My heart quickened as I slowly opened my eyes to look straight into hers while everything started to come back into focus. It was as if we were being carried by the wind as we ran, with the tall grass tickling our legs. Once, and only once, she looked back at me and I felt safe, at peace.
Let me count the ways.
The day was a lot warmer than expected for the month of February. Of course, common sense would tell me that it wouldn’t last. A freeze up was sure to come. You can’t ever tell what the weather will bring in late winter/early spring, but one thing was always certain, it would be a beautiful, relaxing day.
We started out in the morning, with a Valentine’s breakfast at home prepared by yours truly, and then headed over to drag my brother along on yet another little journey to the north unit of Theodore Roosevelt National Park.
Every time I am there, I see more and more change. This time, there was a lot of red starting to come through in the hills, as well as rocks taking on new shapes, like this one in the photograph. I can’t tell you how many times I have driven past that exact spot and thought to myself how lack luster it was, but not this time. The rock formation appears to be either weeping or sleeping, really depends upon how you wish to interpret it. This is nature’s artwork at it’s finest.
The rest of the trip consisted of seeing a few buffalo, a lot of deer and even some Robins out to play as well as great conversation, and talk of some exciting band news.
Valentine’s day was a total win spent with the two people I love the most in my life, my little drummer boy (who made a total score with pink roses, jewelry and chocolate) and my brother. Two different types of love, but who says Valentine’s day is only for lovers? Remember to show your love every day of the year, and let the ones you love be themselves, because everybody is different and it is those differences, that make us love them even more.
Endings inspire beginnings.
It’s been a long time since I last saw Emma. So young, so vibrant, so terribly naive. She put the spark into my heart and the light in my eyes. She allowed me to be whomever, whatever I wanted to be, but she’s a stranger to me now.
I glance back at the time, all of the times when we, just Emma and I, spent hours sitting in silence. She taught me how to see the world, listen to myself and how to live. I was the voice of reason who could bring her down out of the clouds.
I think, no, I know that I have seen Emma a few instances throughout the years, but assumed it best to leave her be. Leave her where I once left her. Now, as she stands before me, dangerously close, I know I want to know her again, as I once did.
I dreamt of Emma last night, and that is the closest that I have felt to any one being for over nine years. There have been so many faces, so many dim lights that have flickered in and out of my existence, but not one as beautiful, or honest, none as special as Emma.
This is the first day, an ending, yet a beginning.
appeared like an angel. 