Vision

Silent

not so much as a whisper 

passing your lips

You simply stood 

watching me

from the shadowed hall

You held my dog

my best friend 

of seventeen years

She hated anyone

who came near me

as they took me from her

But she seemed to know you

to love you

to be content in your arms

Your shadow glowed

a beacon bringing light

into a darkened room

The Gypsy opened the door

and brought you here

my heart is raw at the thought

My eyes are blurry

tear filled visions

are guiding me down this path

Is this supposed 

to be an ending

a place to say goodbye?

455 ~ do guardian angels exist?

* I haven't really tried writing short stories before. I had a dream last night and thought I would try to write it out as a story. It took a few turns as I let it flow out. You never know unless you try something new.*

Something happened that morning, something in the soft quiet, of which we were unaware.

The river flowed roughly that night, it had been raining all day, it wasn’t safe to cross. Adrian, the young boy with bright blond hair, was out too late and trying to get home. No one knows what happened once he stepped onto the bridge, but he was never seen again, not really. 

In the following days, everyone became frantic, searching for him night and day. He was a boy that everyone knew, and everyone loved. His Mother was inconsolable, his Father, predictably, acted out his fear and worry through anger and acting a fool all over town.

When I heard the news, my heart broke, Adrian and I had a special bond. He would always come to my shop and help with anything I needed. He would deliver flowers and take orders and listen to the stories of the grieving customers. They seemed to want to tell him their stories, the loss of their loved ones overwhelming them. He was just a boy of 16, but you could see in him something that transcended his age, he had a very old soul.

On that fated day, he had stayed late in the store with me, we had been very busy and were cleaning up. There were cut flower stems all over the floor and supplies everywhere. It was quite late when we finally swept up the last bits of the days efforts and turned off the lights. I told Adrian I would drive him home and in his usual way, he said, “No Auntie, I will just skip across the bridge and be home, it’s not far, you know.” That boy loved to be out in nature, running through the trees, jumping over streams and chasing birds.

I kissed his forehead and thanked him for his help and off he went. I got in my car and drove the few blocks to my own home. My dreams that night were filled with images of angels flying by the river, there were hundreds of them, circling overhead. I couldn’t see what they were gathering for, but the sight was beautiful.

In the morning, I was woken up by the ringing of the phone. I was so deep in sleep that it took me a few minutes to understand what the sound was. When I answered I heard a voice choking over tears and trying to scream. I finally realized it was my sister but all I could understand in what she was saying was ‘Adrian’ and my heart stopped. I dropped the phone, quickly dressed and ran out to my car. When I got in the car, I saw a large white bird sitting on my fence, as I screeched the tires and sped away, he never moved.  

It only took minutes to get to my sister’s house, but it seemed like an eternity. When I arrived, I ran up the front steps and stopped suddenly at the top. On the corner of the fence post was a giant white bird. I shook my head thinking it couldn’t possibly be the same bird and it just sat there, not moving, watching me. I noticed it had one very green eye and the other was coal black. I shook my head again and ran into the house.

It was chaos in the house, my sister flailing around the room, people everywhere. I kept trying to grab her wrists to quiet her down, so I could figure out what had happened. She was staring at me mumbling things I couldn’t understand, and Adrian’s father finally said, “he didn’t come home last night.” They had been divorced for a few years, but he lived close by and had come to pick him up to spend the day with him.   

Immediately I felt a surge pass through my chest, ‘I should have driven him home!’ I couldn’t breathe for a moment and then exhaled hard and just hugged my sister.  In the following hours, everything is a blur. Things were moving so fast, people coming and going, everyone trying to find Adrian. They focused their search on the river, the last place the boy had been seen.

I drove over to my shop, knowing I had a last-minute order to be delivered to a funeral that was happening that day. I knew after that, I could close up and help in the search for Adrian. I gathered the flowers and vases into the van and just as I shut the back door, something caught my eye. On the back fence, behind the shop was a large white bird. This time it wasn’t staring at me, it was looking off in the direction of the river. I started to walk toward it and it opened its wings and flew to a tree at the beginning of the river trail. I wanted to follow it, but I had to get these flowers to the cemetery. I shook my head to focus and got in the van.

I drove across town and pulled up to the cemetery entrance. The guard at the front saw me and pushed the button to open the gates. As I waited for the gate to open, something moved in the corner of my eye. I turned and saw that bird, it had to be the same one, as it landed on a headstone at the edge of the cemetery grounds. I heard the words, ‘what the….!’ come out of my mouth. The gates were now open, and the guard was waving me in.

I stepped on the gas and the van started moving. I hurriedly made my delivery. Trying not to rush as this poor man was laying his wife to rest but I wanted to see if I could find that bird. I finished up the delivery, gave my condolences and rushed back to the front of the cemetery. Dammit it all if he wasn’t still there. Sitting stock still, staring off in the direction of the river.

I turned the van toward the river and sped back across town. When I got there, the search party had just formed a straight line and had begun to walk up the river bank. They were all looking down and moving slowly, some had flashlights, some in bright orange vests. The rain had stopped hours ago and the water in the river had receded a bit and was flowing at its normal, gentle pace.

Adrian loved walking by the river. He loved the quiet and loved to walk alone singing songs he made up in his head. He also loved coming to help me at the shop, even though he was only 16, he seemed to understand how to console grieving souls. He would touch their hands softly and look into their eyes. He had beautiful green eyes and somehow seemed to almost hypnotize people as they looked back at him. He would hum some little tune he had made up and the person would smile. It was always a brief exchange and seldom even recognized but I watched him with so many of our customers that I saw it as a sort of ritual he performed at every funeral we attended. Something about him, though outwardly a happy young boy, was deeply sad. I always noticed it when he would begin his walk down the river trail, heading home, and he would start to sing.

Our town was small but there was a huge historical cemetery that people from all over would come to lay their loved ones to rest in. My shop was originally just a small flower shop in town but began to work solely for the cemetery many years ago. I loved helping people and being able to assist them with the details of the flowers and keeping their resting places beautiful was something I felt called to do. Being kind to someone who is grieving can change a person’s life.

When Adrian was very young, he would always come with me to the shop. He loved the flowers and knew all their names and could tell me everything about them by the time he was 5 or 6. His favorites were Daisies and Daffodils, representing innocence, purity and rebirth respectively. He told me the Daisy, also known as Bellis, according to Celtic mythology was used to cheer parents who were grieving the loss of a child. He told me that Daisies are made up of two flowers, the inner section called a disc floret and the outer petals, a ray floret and that they often are used to symbolize true love. They close their petals at night covering the inner sections and reopen each morning to begin a new day.

The Daffodil, he told me, symbolizes rebirth and is the first bloom to show itself after a long winter. The Latin name for Daffodil is, Narcissus, after the Greek God who was celebrated for his beauty but was also very arrogant. Some sources say while he was staring at his reflection nymphs transformed him into a narcissus flower to get revenge for how he treated them. Others think he drowned trying to capture his reflection, and the flowers growing along the riverbed were named after him. Some even liken the nodding heads of daffodil flowers to Narcissus bending down and gazing at his reflection. It is said if the flower blooms on New Year’s Day, you will have good luck for the whole year.

Adrian was a boy that lived in his head, a dreamer and I always thought of him more like an Aster. The Aster is a unique daisy-like wildflower that’s known for its star-shaped flower head. Aster meanings include love and wisdom. With a rich history in Greek mythology, it’s said that the aster was created by the tears of the Greek goddess, Astraea. One day, she was so upset by how few stars there were in the dark sky, that she began to cry. As she wept, her tears fell to the ground and turned into star-shaped aster flowers. Thus, the flower was named after her, with Aster meaning star. He always seemed like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

I looked up suddenly and realized I had been walking along the river path for nearly an hour thinking about Adrian and the flowers. I had gone a long way down the trail and had lost sight of the search party. It was still early afternoon, so I just kept walking, looking up and down the riverbank for any clues, any traces of Adrian.

I kept walking and aside from branches and rocks and the occasional flower, there was nothing, no evidence of the missing boy. Those words…no evidence…why did they stand out in my mind?

 Oh yes, I remember it now, there was a little girl that went missing here, down this same path years ago. As I recalled the story, I remembered that Adrian and the girl, what was her name…? Bella…no…Bellis, yes that’s it, had been friends. They were both about 7 at the time and had been inseparable. Her family lived next door to my sister and those two children spent every minute together since they were born, oddly enough on the same day.

I stopped suddenly shaken by the memory. The little girl, Bellis, had gone missing one evening and after an exhaustive search that went on for months, was never found. The family presumed her dead and a funeral was held. It suddenly flashed in my mind that her headstone was the one that damn bird was sitting on in the cemetery today. Although her body was never found, the family had a headstone placed at the edge of the cemetery facing the river. On the headstone was the inscription Bellis, April 1955 and below that etched in the stone, a set of wings.

After the funeral, Adrian grew quiet. He and Bellis had always been at the center of everything as they grew up, laughing and then running off together to play their secret games. I wondered for a moment about his love for Daisies and remembered what he had told me. Bellis…he never forgot her. I realized at that moment why he spent so much time down at the river. I don’t think he ever stopped looking for her.

 With tears in my eyes, I continued searching. He must have fallen somewhere along the path. Maybe he had been hurt and couldn’t get himself home, surely, he had to be here somewhere, he had to be. I started to run, stumbling over the rocks and slipping through the mud. Faster and faster, breath coming hard, sweat starting to cover my face. “Adrian!” I called out, panic setting in and still running faster. I rounded a slight curve in the path and lost my footing, slipping down the embankment. I fell forward and landed in the mud, knocking the wind out of my chest. I noticed my watch as I looked up over my arms, 4:55, and then I saw at the edge of the river, a single daffodil, bent low over the water.

I couldn’t breathe for a moment, and just stared. There was nothing else around, no evidence, those words rang in my ears again. I don’t know why or how but, in some way, I just knew. We were never going to see Adrian again. 

I began to yell for help, calling the search party to where I was and they all came running. They gathered around and helped me to my feet. They were all asking me questions but all I could do was point to the flower on the ground. No one understood what I was saying, and they eventually continued with the search thinking that I was simply distraught.

The search went on for days, weeks and months. With less and less to go on and no clues surfacing, my sister began to give up hope. She and her husband were together again as the grief had brought them close and she was pregnant. Time passed and there was a funeral for Adrian just as there had been for Bellis and I convinced my sister to place a headstone for him next to hers in the cemetery. The inscription read simply, Adrian, April 1971 and below that etched in stone a set of wings.

Time was passing and life moving on and on New Year’s Day, my sister gave birth to a son called Patrick. Everyone was coming back to life and I went for a walk down by the river. I missed Adrian so much, trying to continue my work at the shop and help the grieving souls but nothing could console my own grief. I walked that old familiar path and felt like I was not alone on that day. I talked out loud as if he was there, telling him of his new baby brother, telling him of the souls that had passed. Somehow, I knew that he knew them all by name. I began to feel a bit anxious as I came upon the spot on the path where I had fallen in the mud that day. I held my breath and as I turned the corner there it was. Leaning low over the melting ice of the river was a single daffodil watching its reflection in the water. Tears fell from eyes just as they had done that day.

Many years passed, and I began to grow weary of the flowers and the grief and the constancy of loss. I was working in the shop one day and heard the bell ring as the front door opened. Much to my great joy it was my nephew Patrick. He was grown now and had just graduated college with a degree in Botany and had been helping me at the shop for years. It was a late afternoon in April and he had brought me a bouquet of Asters. The very first time he came into the shop when he was about 6, he told me this was his favorite flower. He asked if we could go for a walk, he had some news to tell me.

We set off down the river trail. As a boy, he walked this path many times, he told me. No one ever found Adrian and he always wondered about his brother. He had grown up to be so much like Adrian, the same kind heart, same care for others. He said that he somehow had always just felt like part of him was missing. I looked at him, his bright green eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun.

We rounded the bend and were just about to come upon the corner and as we turned he said, “Auntie, I’ve fallen in love.” I hugged him and as I looked over his shoulder I saw that daffodil only this time it was leaning towards me as if looking back. As I let go of Patrick, I asked him the name of his love. His eyes sparkled again, and he said, “Daisy.” 

I looked again and the daffodil that had been at the river’s edge for the last 20 years was gone. As I turned back to Patrick, I saw behind him sitting on the lowest branch of a tree, a large white bird with one green eye. It looked at me then spread its wings and flew off. As it passed a white feather fell at my feet. I picked it up, put it in my pocket and Patrick and I walked back to my shop.  

Excerpts 8

 

 

Another in the series of writing from dreams. Not sure this one had a message but it was more than pleasant...

 

 

 

 

It was a vast room with marble floors. There were heavy velvet curtains hanging over the windows to keep out the winter chill. In the corner of the room, a string quartet, playing by ear. They wore blindfolds for our privacy.

You were elegant in something white and flowing, a light linen that revealed your lines and curves. You lead me across the floor as if my feet did not touch the ground. Strong arms wrapped around me, reassuring, guiding. The music moved in waves and we followed it flawlessly. It began to slow and you paused midstep and pulled me closer, kissing me with a heat that filled the room. You laid me down on the marble floor and as the music changed, pace becoming steady and driven, you became the song. My cries became the lyric, as your hands conducted a symphony. ..

I awoke covered in sweat, muscles still recovering from the release.

Solitude Sometimes Wins

it won’t always be like this

I know, I understand.

but it feels like this right now

and this is the moment I’m in.

with water flowing down my back

and tears pouring down my face.

I knelt on the shower floor

and let it all come out.

exhaustion and stress

a paralyzing blend.

of sensations that kill creativity

and leave me standing still.

I don’t have a moment to breathe right now

to exhale away the day.

from the moment it starts all eyes on me

and there is no refuge for me to hide.

there are no moments to sit and reflect

to let words float around in my mind.

no time to sit and stare at the trees

and let them sing to me.

this might not be important to those

who don’t live and breathe words.

but for those who do, you understand

it feels like a silent death.

last night I dreamt a story

that I wanted so badly to write.

but with dawn and the alarm and the inevitable day

I felt the words crawl away.

I dreamt of a friend I had found

who understood the words.

the meaning hidden in the rhythm

and the cadence of the song.

I dreamt that she came to my doorstep

and sat in the middle of the floor.

surrounded by books, piles of them

and waited patiently for me.

the irony in the dream was that I had run

and sat in front of her door.

needing the solace and consolation

of one who understands.

so while I sat, waiting for her

and she sat waiting for me.

the alarm rang and took that dream

but the message wasn’t lost.

in the shower it hit me full force

and flowed out with my tears.

I did have someone who understood

she just wasn’t standing here.

she listens though, and hears

and through words reaches me.

I just haven’t had the time to hear

and the solitude sometimes wins.

 

 

 

Excerpts 7

The Excerpts series are poems that are written directly from dreams. If I can remember them clearly enough to write them I feel there is a significance to that. Whether or not there is dialogue is the deciding component in them becoming part of the series because generally the dialogue, which is always minimal, is where the message is for me. Really they are just stories, things that I dream into being.

 

"Yes, dear"

 

 

As we moved through the house

we passed and open bedroom door.

There were many characters moving about this place

but these three caught my eye.

They lay together across the bed

in middle of the light of day.

But it may have been night, hard to tell

there was no telling time in this place.

He was a dark shock of wavy hair

face down on the pillow.

She in a mask, to keep out the light

golden hair and manicured toes.

Between them a child lay fast asleep

like a wall dividing them.

She cried, “this light will not let me sleep”

he mumbled, “yes dear, I know”.

I encountered them often during my stay

always together as three.

Moving about the daily routine

the function and conformity.

You could see her staring wistfully

across the street from the front yard.

As he performed some mechanical task

she painted pictures in her mind.

The child always oblivious, just happy

that they were all there.

And maybe that was the reason

like being caught in a snare.

In the kitchen I heard them again

she, speaking in hushed tones.

“This ache in me is gnawing

chewing away at my bones.”

I was unsure that the words

were even loud enough to hear.

As if on cue, he answered her though,

in that monotone voice, “yes, dear”.

She met me eye to eye

more than once throughout my stay.

In this strange little house with too many rooms

and so many stories to tell.

I couldn’t understand why they were here

this oddly made family of three.

Her eyes kept pleading to tell me

was she simply waiting for me?

Waiting for me to ask

waiting for me to hear?

Or did she just need someone to listen

without the reply, “yes, dear”.

 

 



Excerpts 6

The Excerpts series are poems that I write directly from dreams. I feel that if I can remember them and the dialogue within them, there is a reason for that and so I write them here.

This story , subtitled 'Listen To A Poet's Voice' is about meeting one of my very favorite poets, Natasha Head. She has a unique and powerful voice that I find extremely inspiring. Check her out at http://www.tashtoo.com/ or on Twitter @tashtoo

she sat in an overstuffed velvet chair

with notebooks spread across her lap.

pens and pencils, artist’s tools

were strewn all over the floor.

I walked into the room and sat down

on the floor in front of her.

she said, “which one is your favorite?”

I answered and she began to read.

I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice

the way it wrapped around the words.

she has lived these words and can speak them

as if they come to life with her breath.

telling tales of lives that are lived out loud

even when only whispers are heard.

she turned the pages with the sound

of a flutter of butterfly wings.

graceful and soft almost a hush

mesmerizing delicacy.

she treated the words like treasures

and held them close to heart.

pacing herself only by

the way I reacted to them.

with a hunger I listened and hung on the words

as she let them fall from her lips.

she said, “I don’t do this for everyone…

only those who can hear what I say.”

hours passed, perhaps even days

I was lost in the stories she told.

reading from the depth of her very soul

the magic just drew me in.

the time came to read the final page

in earnest she searched for the one.

the perfect ending to this moment

the words that would complete the tale.

at the turn of the page there were colors

brighter than any I’d seen.

hues that resembled a rainbow

jumping off of the page.

hit my eyes with almost a sting

and she looked at me with a wink.

we both laughed out loud for a moment

as she tore that page in two.

handed one half to me and kept one for herself

“into your pocket it goes…”

“those aren’t the ones we read out loud,

we keep them close to our hearts”.

those were the words that followed her

as she rose and left the room.

Excerpts 5

Excerpts are poems that I write directly from dreams, If I can remember them clearly enough to write them, I think there is a significant message in them for me. Usually, it's in the dialogue and generally very few words. This one was pretty clear to me.

I find my place in line

behind a woman and her two sons.

The throng of people stretched out before me

in a row defined by two red metal bars.

The tension in the air is palpable

anxiousness, excitement grows.

For some, it’s fear and hesitation

and distractions are needed for them.

The line moves slowly forward

we take only a few steps at a time.

Drawing imminently nearer

to the gate and that 48” sign.

The boys in front of me are arguing

pushing each other back and forth.

The taller one telling the smaller one

you’re not big enough for this!

You can see the trepidation

the dismay on his face.

The mother hushes the two of them again

and tells them to stand up straight.

As we move forward again I just listen

caught up in the many ways people pass the time.

Telling stories, laughing, joking

some just staring into space.

The nervous ones you can pick out of the crowd

they usually look a bit sick.

Or they’re having arguments or tense conversation

with the person standing next to them.

I, again, am just waiting

here in my place in this line.

Another step forward and the moment nears

the anticipation builds.

Soon we are at the platform

and the boys in front of me scream!

The taller one was right and the smaller one

will have to wait another year.

His mother takes his hand

and leads him down the stairs.

The other boy jumps into the front seat

and I step in next to him.

The safety latch is lowered

low and snug across our laps.

I wrap my hands around it

ready to hold on tight.

The boy looks over at me

at my hands clutched around that bar.

He says, “No, you have to raise your arms,

like this, up in the air!”

I’m not sure about this as the car begins to move

and we start the climb up the first hill.

Click, click, click, click

as the climb seems to have slowed time.

I feel the fear rising and my stomach

rises up into my chest.

A few more clicks and we’ll be at the top

ready to descend.

As we reach the top the car stops

and begins to teeter back and forth.

Then with a slight tip forward it feels

as if the ground has fallen away.

The feeling of being weightless

of falling freely through the air.

Fills me with a feeling of terror

and I hold again to that rail.

The boy is screaming, hands in the air

and he looks over at me and says.

“Don’t be afraid, you won’t fall

just LET GO!”

As we fall at a breakneck speed

I take my hands off the rail.

With a noise I’ve never made before

I raise my hands in the air and scream.