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The house was quiet and warm. Only the soft tick of a wall clock and a dim rumble of faraway traffic hung on the sultry air. The walls were white, easy on the eyes and trimmed in rich oak, and the doors were of oak and the furniture also. Soft carpets were laid across the floors and were covered with flowing beams that filtered through crystal panes. Dust floated in the golden rays, and the windows bore afterimages of forgotten fingers. It was a house that was lived in, yet no human tread the worn carpets of the hallway or lounged in the cushions of oaken limbed chairs. A quiet hung there, and a sense of anticipation; a sense that was blown away on a chill breeze. The fingers of wind crept through the house and caressing walls and furniture and then faded as it was lost on the paths of memory. With the departure of the wind the quiet was broken and there was heard hollow footsteps. A gray shape passed through the empty rooms and golden rays of daylight and its form could be discerned as female. Frail she was in body, and her stature was small, but that form brimmed with strength and in the eyes of a few she would ever be tall and fair. She walked amid the furniture and ever her hands reached out to touch the furniture, or the wall or some piece of woodwork. From room to room she walked thus and though her feet fell with a soft sound, no dust was raised. Her sorrowful eyes fell upon everything and upon her face were many lines of age and care. She gazed about and then her eyes fell shut and a shudder ran though her. A biting gust tore through the house and all grew cold. The chill faded and a waiting warmth returned. The eyes of the gray form opened and their colorless depths were adamant. She turned then and crossed the room to the door, and slipped silently outside as the door fell shut with an irrevocable snick. Outside the sun was high in the sky and heat radiated from all directions, but the light was yet dim. She stood upon the porch and looked out over the verdant lawns. Then she walked across them and sat at the foot of the catalpa tree. The only one in the yard and it was laden with many white blossoms, and they lay strewn about the yard shining like pearls. There she sat and her eyes closed. A wind came then, soft and warm, lifting up the blossoms and carrying their fragrance teasingly around the woman. On the breeze she heard the sound of children laughing and playing, and the fall of hammer. A scene played on her eyelids, two young men rolled and played with a young golden pup, while a man stood silent and happy. Lines of care fell from her face and her eyes opened. Eyes of blue, cobalt that bore the cold of steel and the compassion of a mother. Light streamed through the boughs of the tree and daylight came again, and color flowed. The wind spiraled around her, and she placed a single bloom in her hand and then she was gone. A van rumbled up the driveway, and three men stepped from it. They were tired and their eyes were red from tears. As they stood on the door of the garage and looked at the catalpa tree, a warm breeze wrapped around them, and filled their minds. They cried, but there were smiles on their faces. The sat beneath the tree, with flowers strewn at their feet, and they were three no longer, but four in heart. � Copyright Abrahm Simons |