Friday, April 1, 2011

In the Forest

I looked at the light greens of the ground plants and the deeper greens of the leafy canopy. In the immense space between, birds in every conceivable color alighted between branches and vines, calling playfully to anyone who would listen.  Where the dappled light was strong enough to nurture them, flowers blossomed at irregular intervals. The air hummed with the sound of small-winged insects flitting about. To balance the sickly smell of rot, a clear river flowed from not too far, it's clean scent drifting around the vegetation. I drunk it all in like an alcoholic who needs a hangover cure.

I understood, for the first time, the intense draw this place had on my husband. It was a forest with unimaginable beauty brought to life and destroyed by heavy rains for centuries. I wished I had known him as the young man who had traipsed through this "Garden of the Gods" as he so frequently referred to it. I regretted not joining him when he was a more mature man in favor of having my nails polished at the resort's spa. Feeling the erratic beating of my heart, I rejoiced that we had found a resting place.

I twisted the lid off the beautiful clay pot we had bought together on our first trip to this forsaken country. Clutching it in my hands, I lay down in a bed of flowers, his ashes spilling on the ground next to me, neither of us ever to get up again.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

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