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The River

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The clouds are laying upon the mountain tops, the bright white of the sun setting below them, the lavender and pinks and soft oranges along their edges. The air is cooling finally and the sounds of nature are turning off. The water rushes over her body as she lays on the rocks in the brook. Her hair, floating in strands of shining brown and gold floats off her shoulders, she searches the branches of the tree for a nightingale and listens as the peepers start their songs for mating. She closes her eyes and breathes in the delicious air filled with the scents of wildflowers that grow along the banks and she is stilled. 

The moon has risen and is high in the sky, half lit and half dark, she feels the same. She listens to the whispers that blow by her and is reminded of the peace she once felt. She loses herself in the memories of soft kisses and tender moments and the summer nights of yesterday. Behind her eyes plays the memories of a more gentle time, a more gentle spirit, the loves she’s known and the loves she will never know again. She opens her eyes and above her a beautiful butterfly is dancing in the air, and she recalls the hands that held her and twirled her around and pulled her close…

The dusk is upon her now, the trees that hang low over the water, darkening the waters and she pulls herself out and sits on the edge watching the tiny minnows gather, their small bodies searching for food, they school and shift one way and then the other, she knows their hunger. She pulls back her hip length hair and twists it into a single strand and then separates it to braid it. She wonders if she will ever be more than melancholy, if she will ever be…more. 

Slipping on her sandals, she stands and pulls at the t-shirt that covers her bare breasts and adjusts her jean shorts over the tops of her thighs, she breathes the scent of night in deeply and slips out from behind the vines that cover the old sycamore tree. She is fascinated every time she looks at its beautiful bark and branches, like a form of art they twist toward the sky, gnarled and bent, but thick and strong, and she thinks of her own skin, her own strength.

The fireflies are awakening and their glow fills the empty air, lighting up the yards and the trees and the brush, magical looking. She stands and watches the show and thinks how amazing nature is and how somehow she could just disappear into it…her heart is warmed by that thought. She is struggling with her spirit, to release it or hold it captive. The pain inside of her seems to shoot spears and close it in but then she lets go and it frees from the bondage. She is peaceful after that happens, after she sheds those tears, after she lets go, she can breathe for a moment.


She makes her way back to the house, climbs the stairs and pushes open the door. She slips out of her clothes and grabs her robe and pulls it around her damp body. She hears the clock ticking on the wall and the water splashing in the pond in the yard and the purr of her cat as he rubs against her. He always knows when she is emotional and tries to soothe her. She heads to the coffee pot and fills her cup and then back outside to her porch where two chairs sit, one empty, one full of her. She settles in and pulls her cat close and sips her coffee, she feels like she is waiting for something…something. Whatever it is..she wishes it would come, but it never seems to..Image

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