Against the dark night sky all Steve could see was the crumbling walls that were nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of some previous existence. The wind whistled through the trees bringing with it the laughter of children who once lived there and the caring call of a mother letting them know dinner was ready.
Vividly he could picture his childhood. The walls didn’t seem so grey when he was only a boy, nor did they seem so small. In his mind he pictured this place as though it were a castle where he and his brother were the Princes. His mother and father would glide through the once pristine halls, the King and Queen of their kingdom. He felt like no time had passed since he moved from this house, yet as he gazed upon the overgrown bushes and the shattered windows it was evident just how wrong he was.
In a breath of the almost autumn air, in the longing for hearth and the comforts of home food, there is a quietness to my soul. It is the restfulness of the warrior in full knowledge that all efforts were made, that the fate, the outcome, rests in the hands of others. So this was my finale. The curtain has closed. I take off these ballet shoes and let my feet feel free. I am no longer the dancer, yet still one who holds the wisdom of the dance. I am no longer the girl but the elder. I can meet God with full pride, I can return the smiling gaze of our creator, and so now I am finally happy.
She has a wonderfully wicked grin, did my Irish Nana, more than a few naughty secrets she kept I'm sure. Perhaps that's what we all need in our old age, some sparky memories to keep our soul-fire burning within.
In the pandemic many nations chose new temporary national anthems to rally a spirit of togetherness, we Brits went for "the frog song," or rather, "We All Stand Together," by Sir Paul McCartney.
The buds in their vibrant hues belonged in the spring air as much as the birdsong or page-white clouds. What was tightly folded and protected within would grow with each passing sunny day until it was ready to blossom into the world.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, gently rubbing her arm. Despite the heaviness in her stomach, it fluttered at the feeling of her body pressed against his. She sunk into the warmth of his side, appreciative of the simple gesture. His touch made the room warmer somehow, her future within its walls seeming a little less bleak.
He watched the sunset at the horizon, spreading its largess into a grateful sky. Rich hues of red blended with oranges, purples, crimsons. Bob's spirit soared at the sight as he was transported into a timeless existence, ready for the protective blanket of night and new dreams.
Her hazel eyes were a melt of autumn tones, fending off the winter frost. Freckles, light, delicate; sprinkled softly on her sun-kissed cheeks. Waves of brown hair that refract the sun's gentle light, penetrating it's smooth layers. She was a Goddess on Earth, a blooming flower amongst the leaves.
And in the night sky were stars, as if God had sprinkled them so sugar-sweet upon the most perfect of black birthday cakes.
A widowed wife. A mother of two. Living in a country of chaos. She lives in a scattered pile of concrete held together by fractured planks of wood. Trying to survive in a country that wants everyone dead. Seeking refuge in any broken, run-down house that is still standing. Living every moment of her life in constant fear of death for herself and her children.
The kettle that had recently been singing with high pressure steam had blown the lid off, and now, upon the table, it sat there with icy cold water.
The boy's eyes were green but not the kind of shade that's easy to describe. It was almost like they were both green and yellow at the same time, with blue creeping in around the edges as if it were trying to take over. He blinked and the beauty was momentarily covered by the shield of his eyelashes; naturally long and soft looking - feminine compared to the rest of his well structured features. By the time the boy's eyes opened again, I had still not recovered from his intense stare. It was a stare that communicated the boy's former pain, and his wish for me to let go and to move on. But I could not move on, just as I could not forget those glaring eyes whose light never faded even in death.