July 14, 2005

He’s away. He’ll be back. Meanwhile, in some hidden, sun-dappled glade of his blog, you chance upon me. You lucky, lucky people.

Carefree, smiling, dancing on sunbeams, we look around his garden and feel joy. Where should we wander, here, amid so many lovely leaves and flowers? Hearing a breeze ruffle blades of grass, seeing richly laden branches wave forward and back, we sigh in wonder; can we possibly decide upon a course which offers even more pleasure? Perhaps.

Moving on, our journey carries us by fields and groves and dense copses of woodland, all richly summery, warm and basking in sunshine. We exchange easy, playful hugs and kisses and skip along happily hand in hand, secure in our friendship and love.

Beside a bubbling brook, minuscule people garbed in blue hook huge golden fish, each one food for many weeks ahead. We decline several generous offers of a meal, and move on, laughing gaily, choosing a way ahead from many on offer, all equally alluring. Up? Down? Do we even care? So many choices, surely none will be bad?

Or maybe one.

When we’ve gone a mile or so down our chosen lane, we observe a growing darkness; colour leaches from blossoms overhead, dragonfly wings no longer iridesce, songs so long accompanying us we’d ceased even hearing drop away — and suddenly we hear once more. Hear an absence, an echoing loss.

Dismayed, we gaze on as a jewelled hummingbird hovers briefly before us, slows, and spirals groundward, dying before our eyes. Glancing up, we see leaves shrivelling on branches under a slender arc of moon, her dim radiance cold and cruel. Silence is everywhere. Somehow, we are alone.

Where did our happiness go?

A freezing wind rises and whips around us, pulling our hair and chilling our bones and dampening our eyes. Icicles caress our cheeks, now, and rime our lashes, and his absence burns so keenly in memory we fear we may never be warm again.

We hug ourselves grimly and — being all we can do — hope. If we can only survive his leaving, we may — some week, some year — rediscover sunshine. Spring will one day find us again, my friend. One day, surely.

We dig in for a long, sorrowful vigil.

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5 Responses to He’s away. He’ll be back.

  1. anapestic says:

    Excellent, as ever.

  2. Hanuman says:

    Dear Matt

    Please accept my most humble apologies. Apparently I have been acting like a boor, and I deeply regret it. Keep up the good work!

  3. David says:

    Can I just enjoy this or must I determine whether there is a missing letter or grammatical element of some sort? It’s Friday. I’m tired.

  4. matt says:

    [David] You can do whatever you like; but anapestic offers you a clue if you want it.

  5. David says:

    Ah, a drink with jam and bread.


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