At dawn the tall trees cast long shadows over the meadow, like silhouette angels or spirits in the early morning light. Riders galloped down the riverside on horseback with great haste; to where, or for what purpose, I could not discern. Ducklings paddled by the bank, like an illustrated scene from Wind in the Willows, and ruffled their wet feathers; sprinkling earthy brown water about them, which landed in tiny pools and droplets upon the water’s surface and rippled outward in ever expanding circles. Oars struck the water smoothly – with expert precision and control – as young rowers glided downstream. Shielding their eyes were bright, technicolour sports-sunglasses and about their firm, muscular torsos clung tight-fitting spandex-blended lycra of white and navy blue hue. A lonesome white dove nested upon a gently swaying tree branch and occasionally cooed at passers-by; primarily early morning hikers whose walking boots squelched in the soft, untilled earth over which they ventured – arms swinging merrily, whistling or humming old folk tunes to themselves as they peacefully ambled by, smiling to one another or laughing from time to time – gazing at their changing surroundings in wonder and sighing with deep-hearted contentment.
Purple butterflies and orange dragonflies flapped and buzzed their wings, parading gracefully about the jolly scene with careless abandon as bees flew about pollinating flowers and smiling at the fertile fauna and flora respectively, respectfully. A stately swan floated down stream ceremoniously, as if riding atop a fluffy cloud in the sky, her noble head held high, tilting her beak up at the world as she passed by, like a royal princess waving elegantly from a procession of horse-drawn carriages, as they slowly roll over a stately promenade in fine fashion, with regal eminence emanating bountifully beyond like rays of sunlight. And so as the sun passed over the horizon and rose higher into the sky – gradually altering its wondrous hue from a yellowy-orange colour to purplish-blue – a flock of white birds flew through the thin clouds above, migrating homeward, wherever that may be, after long journeys abroad in foreign lands.
She strolled about the fertile pasture land; peaking underneath hedgerows, plucking pretty wildflowers from the earth and placing them delicately within her brown wicker picnic basket – within which she arrayed a sublime circlet of technicolour flower petals in a summer wreath. Her laced white sun dress billowed in the breeze, it’s sensuous fabric flapping and curling as if dancing to the rhythms of the wind. Her rose-gold and polished-silver bracelets jangled as she swayed in step and rose her hands high above her head; twirling in circles and beaming her tranquil smile upon the idyllic scene of natural beauty. It was as if she moved in slow-motion and all of time – that vast, unknowable cosmic force – halted at her command, whispered softly and echoed through the void. Her divine femininity was like a beacon of radiant light that shone upon the world and covered all the lands in which she wandered with gold and nowhere was it brighter than in her eyes. When she fixed her gaze upon another mortal being – no matter how lowly and downcast a creature they may appear – one felt illuminated as never before, as if the glistening radiance of heaven was showered upon them in a gushing waterfall of spiritual ecstasy.
Such was her grace, her angelic power, her magical beauty, the strength of her supernatural soul; like a safe haven amidst treacherous seas, a wondrous harbour more mystical than even the wildest imaginations can fathom, which she openly offered unto me; a quaint and peaceful coastal port in which I was privileged to lay the anchor of my soul, cast off the ropes of my senses and tie them in firm knots upon the sturdy shore, furl the sails of choice which haunted my fatigued conscience with regret and dive deep into the crystal clear pools of her love, to swim in that healing elixir, shake off the heaviness in my heart and find the very comfort and peace I lost when stolen from the cradle of childhood and cast into the jagged, concrete landscape of tortured youth. He yearned passionately for such peace and tropical tranquility; knowing not that truly his pangs always were, on a deeper level, an act of subconscious adoration for her. Seeking not for salvation, but sedation, an act of spiritual ill-will, he found a soulmate. His shortcoming was rewarded with grace. One may wonder why.
She was paradise incarnate in human form and to look within her dazzling light blue eyes – like majestic jewels forged at the molten heart of a dying star – was to know that life had higher meaning, that all existence had divine purpose, that our numbered days on this earth are precious beyond mortal conception, that every tiny moment we experience is like a puzzle piece in the magnificent tapestry of being and that what we do here on this strangle little planet with the short time that is given us matters more than we may ever fully realise, for it is woven into the grand cosmic continuum forevermore and that, long after our physical bodies perish, that thread of life we wound into the universe will remain. So, let it not be that those fated to inhabit the future, near or far, those beautiful unborn souls yet to be, must reap the sorrowful, sour fruits which grow from the seeds we sow.
Short Story by Stamos Mardou