The wind was picking up. He sat, unmoving, on the top of the small rise and allowed the memories to flow through him much as the summer breeze flew past. It had been a day like this they had met. Her golden tresses flying in the gusty warmth of the early eve breezes, he thought her a vision of youth, beauty and innocence. He would never forget her look of surprise when she realised she was not alone on the windswept hill. Her startled blue eyes had warmed as he haltingly apologised for interrupting her solitary dance amongst the weaving grass. It was the beginning.
They met on the hill, to sit and talk. He: dark, brooding, intense, older. She: light, joyous, gentle, youthful. Like two pieces of a jigsaw the very differences were what made them fit tightly, completely, with no fissures to be breached. The early golden days.
The wind grew stronger. It began to pull and tug at their embraces, it cast them in chills as the days grew shorter and colder. Their meetings were briefer, conversation stilted. The darkness inside him bloomed with sadness, her light dimmed, and shadows grew on those wet, windy winter days. Still they met, clinging to the hope that spring would bring back the warmth and defrost the friendship. Spring, a renewal of life, love. A rebirth.
The breeze became balmy, the days longer. The grasses danced and weaved once more, stretching towards the sun's heat. Their laughter rang over the field, but a little less joyous, a little more restrained. Winter had left some shadows and scars, the jigsaw did not fit as tightly, holes appeared.
The sun heated the hill and the grasses began to wilt in the hot temperatures. Tempers became fractuous, raised voices rang over the field. The gaps widened. Age became important, experience and wisdom became relevant. His darkness had now become hers.
The sun dipped below the hill where he sat alone twirling the gold band on his left hand. As light left the field, so did he. One backward, sorrow-filled glance conveyed his goodbye to the flattened grasses where they once sat, together. The autumn wind, dry, seeking, dusty, parted the sea of golden green as he climbed into his car to drive away one last time. He did not look back.
Through the weaving green her unseeing blue eyes gazed sightlessly upwards towards the sky. Her innocence stolen, her youth lost, her threats stilled. Her swelling stomach the only remaining sign of a love gone wrong.
Links: Challenge 3 by Kakka Original Challenge by Melissa Challenge 2 by Me!
I am a Madmother of two wonderful boys, wife to an amazing and tolerant man, daughter to an incredible woman whom we lost Oct 2010.
I have 4 blogs. Meandering is rambling, general, whatever takes my fancy stuff. Woven Words is for my short stories and creative writing, Nimbobulan Dreamings is my kids story. And my latest is Hellion on Wheels: my Roller Derby journey. Feel free to look at or follow all 4 if you wish.
Do note, however, all blogs are copyright of the author. They are not to be copied or printed and distributed without written permission from Madmother.