Open like minds on the day of the solstice, the wayward sky encapsulated the town with a warmth of quaint shelter. A dome shaping so wide around the vast flat land as it held air so breathless in the light of the star-kissed sun. His hands meandered through the wind of the grass that tickled the skin of his palms, as he turned his head towards the sensation, the grass strands poked gently into the bosom of his cheek. Here whispers the land of the living skies. Skies that speak to him and move him forward with their winded bellows. Skies that whisper a twinkle of adventure to him, as his eyes reflect the ventured display of stars at night. The narrow river shot through the town, its current flushing itself rapidly, passing by bridge after bridge, until there was no fervor to wish itself forward any longer.

Mr. Candlemeyer’s lawn chair sat there silently, empty, and unfolded on the east-facing patio of his quaint 3-bedroom apartment. He often left his patio door wide open, welcoming the blare of the desolate sun, as it slightly burned a part of the cement ground that the orange patterned lawn chair quietly stood upon. The air of the apartment basked in its introversion while a large pine isolated the kitchen from the view of most of his prying neighbors. Two plants grew side by side in bland colored medium-sized pots, alone, yet firmly aware of their surroundings as they slowly pondered their age and growth. The railing that surrounded the patio was made of thick black iron, and the bars that circled the patio caged its abode to the visceral reality that surrounded it at times.

The sight of a child instills us with this sense of nostalgia, an aching to be who we once were. An ache, that forces us to remember to the days when a naive fragility resided within our selves. We are reminded by our desire for such longing when a cold breeze gently slides across our cheeks, bringing us back to when we swung on the swing-set as children. Striving to reach for the sun until it was gone and there was nothing left but the moon.

A Mother. Once, forever and for all.

She is innocent, honest, helpful, kind.

Naïve perhaps and meant to give.

Her siblings she cherished, she watched them grow tall, and cared for their every call.

Obediently willing and out of obligation she married,

all while the fear of disapproval churned in her belly.

She moved forward, stale, steady, and at an impasse

Watching as the birds and cars passed by slowly.

Finally, she took strength. Solace she stood her ground. She chose and she left. Aware of the call, of the whisper, that streamed forth in her heart.

Even the pores of the glass shards whispered a shimmer. Halted upon, as if each individual fragment had been forced to freeze mid shatter. In passing, perhaps the glimmer could be likened to that of a diamond chandelier. Though if one were to gaze onward, to look past the beauty of such stillness.