He wanted to paint the colors of the sunset in the dancing rivers. With his father beside him, he felt like a superhero though he could not walk much with a virus in his legs. And his hands made up for that, for the fingers danced in the canvas when he was happy, stroked higher when he wanted to run or just laid still when he was tired.
He and Tom, his father, used to sit by the lake every evening or most of his days, otherwise marked by the stillness in his legs. He never had felt the earth on his toes, they said he was one of the lucky few who had to rest well for they have to make long journeys.
They used to sit by the dock down the lake. They counted the stars as they slowly emerged from the blankets of grey, orange, and purples. He wanted to capture each of that hue on his canvas, and take that moment with him forever. He would not have minded if the universe could have ended just then, for there is no where else he wanted to be and that was not a moment when he felt like a cripple. He would trail his numbed toes through the waters and watch the reflection of a dreamy sky in its ripples. He felt alive in his legs then and accepted and celebrated them in all its glory.
Tom used to get some tea and sometimes played his tune on the strings, making the evening more beautiful than ever. He used to think his father as a genius with nothing impossible for him. In his jacket, that Tom wore everyday for this occasion, he looked peaceful and content. The jacket belonged to his mother, Tom’s wife, who gave it to him before she slipped from this world. And with the jacket snugged on to Tom’s shoulders, it reminded him of the way she used to stand beside him with her soft tiny hands, as a blanket of comfort that he missed now so dearly.
Tom loved her much, guess, too much.. and no matter what he did to fix it, his eyes could never hid it and no matter how many times Tom and his son spent in the evening together, or how many sunsets came and went, his soul had left with hers and only a tiny piece remained, that piece belonged to his son and always would. Tom’s heart was in nothing that he did, except those evenings when he used to play his music by the ripples in the lake. That’s why he longed for them so, just to know Tom was at peace in this world, if only for a time. Tom had tried, he knew, to sort through the thoughts he had, but there was something changed in his mind, something had just died in him.
Tom’s gone now, and left him and everything and everyone behind, to be with his mother – the only place he truly belonged . He misses him, his songs, his jacket.The lake seems so lonely now, but every evening he still pulls through in his wheel chair down to dock, slips his socks off and soaks his toes in the lake. He trails his feet through the water lightly and pretends that he can see the reflection of Tom’ smiling face amidst that of the sunset’s.
He smiles as the wind blows gently across his cheek and he knows, by the way it picks the fallen leaves up and tosses them into the sky, that Tom is truly happy now.
I spent some moments on your page a few days before with a dream to make another sojourn to it defying swings of cruel rapier of my fondest enemy, Time; and he enjoys the wished defeat now for sake of his lazy child…gracious he is !
Amidst an elegant pool of expressions I choose this one to crown all in one go. For me, it’s flung open some newer perspectives to explore colours of life, ripples of thoughts and strokes of imagination even within some dampened joy or radiant sorrow…generous you are !
To be particular to this context, I would candidly express that I was dreaming of just that end when I’d begun to read it…maybe, much for influence of “Michael” by Wordsworth upon my soul…and, it had had just that too; yet, it went to tear apart my dreams to subtly lay a new vista of solitude…a complete space that lets one aching within chains of sweet remembrances of those days of togetherness while liberating joys from bonds of sadness….I felt how grossly I failed to listen to those finer chords of strings that knew not in what deepest alleys of soul had its tunes struck…a father, a mother or a son or just anyone else in vast ocean of human consciousness!
In today’s world, human relationship is the worst casualty, but some pages like yours still bear promises of some newer appreciation, some newer turns and maybe, some newer inspiration to bring forth promises within promises endlessly.
Wish the boat sails through as it is so innately destined to…
Regards,