Memories

[Ozzie]

His hand slowly slides my hair across my back, his breath dusts my skin as his lips run down the curve of my neck, sending a delicious tingle through my being. Calloused fingertips flutter along my jaw, up into my hair, circling through its dark curls.

I sit, my eyes closed, my body swaying to the rhythm of his hand, feeling with all my nerves, his presence. I feel his fingers pulling at the ribbons of my bodice, his warmth as he leans against my back, kissing my hair. His steady even breath, his feather light touch, the rich scent of horse sweat, that bring images floating through my mind, of sun sparkled drops of water flung high in the summer afternoon’s air, as he dives into the cold mountain river. Long willow branches letting their leaves drift on the current, to become swirling prisoners in eddies among the willow roots.

The horse’s tail flicking lazily, as she rests one hind foot on its point, her eyes drooping as she waits patiently, tied to a low branch.

An eagle circles on high, powerful wings outstretched on the hot rising currents, his whistling call drawing his mate to him. Now they dance, circling, floating, before the graceful beat of their wings lift them higher towards the sun, their majesty a gift to the watcher.

Ants scurrying along a path known only to them, meeting each other, losing their way, then finding it again, only to meet yet another in their path.

A Willie Wagtail, his fanned tail dipping and swaying furiously, chatters angrily at the blue-black crow who dares to come to near his nest.

Summer grass bakes yellow in the heat, a blurred shimmering haze above it, giving of the scent of hay.

The sound of a gentle splash is followed by droplets of water landing upon my face and he laughs, trying to tease me into entering the water.

I open my eyes. I see a mirror that holds the portrait of a woman, her sun spotted skin lined with age, her hair silver white.

A gilt framed photograph, its contents sepia and faded, lies between my reflection and I.

His face, so straight under the felt slouch hat, the uniform so tailored and pristine; only the riding crop across his shoulder at a jaunty angle, and the smile in his eyes, clues to his devil may care character.

Tracing the outline of the frame with my finger, the words escape my lips,

“I’ve never had another, for you were all to me, my love. You live with in my mind, as if you were here beside me. I am coming. Are you waiting for me?”

[Dan Morton]

Marvelous! Very well done!

All the best,

Dan

[Chris Foster]

Hi Kim

At the end it reminded me of my Grandmother. My Grandfather died when he was of relatively young age, and she thought about him everyday and never stopped loving him right up to her own death.

Regards

Chris

[susanhemmings]

Kim, I am speechless.... beautifully written and how sad, but so true.

Chris, how sad for your grandma. At least they may be reunited now. RIP and happiness

Susan.

[Ozzie]

Bit of my Grandmother is in this as well.

She lost her husband on Christmas Eve in '66. After a stroke in she lingered for six years before passing away in '83.

For those six years, all she wanted was to go to her God, and her husband.

Thanks guys.

Kim

[susanhemmings]

Kim,

God rest her soul. Hope she is at peace with Grandad now.

Susan.