Sunday, March 10, 2013

Portraits of Love



With his waking moment, he senses the fleeting remnants of his dream of images teasing him of an unknown her. He rubs his eyes as if this would pull them back into focus. But, they quickly fade from his mind with quiet laughter, so close this time, he thinks.


He smiles with a slightly frustrated sigh the familiar beginning to his day. Each morning he wakes up purposefully trying to capture the memories of his dreams. Why do so many of his friends remember their dreams in vivid detail and not him? he wonders.

And yet every now and then his dreams slide open as he wakes small vivid fragments remain for moments. These fragments always spark creative writing thoughts. It’s like capturing lightning in a bottle he laughs to himself. Although he didn’t capture lightning this morning, there is definitely a flash teasing the edges of his mind he can sense it just out of reach  something important.

Fighting the natural inertia of his body, he slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed almost up, he smiles. A voice in his head says maybe you’ll remember your dream. She laughs out loud at the thought a daily argument with himself and some days he loses. Not today though he stands up and prepares himself for the day.

The familiar musky smell of books greets him he pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. Now, who will I read today? he wonders as he traces his fingers over the book bindings along his bookshelves. He stops at Anna Karenina. Hmm, wonder why Tolstoy feels right today?

He pulls the well-worn book off the shelf and opens it. Without looking at the page, he slowly traces his fingers over the words. Feeling their texture as he recites from memory the first line, Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Such a great first line, he thinks with a sigh. Closing the book, he absently walks over to the window and opens it to feel the cool autumn breeze. He smiles at the sight of glistening maple leaves still clinging to their branches defiant to the end radiant with bold vibrant colors.

The fresh smell of wet leaves waft through the open window and makes him think of coffee. Closing the window, he heads out the door with Anna Karenina firmly in his grasp. Images of a girl unknown momentarily flash through his mind playing along the edges.

He continues to search his mind as he breathes in the fresh autumn air during his walk through the park. As he nears, he feels flashes of her radiate through the book. He tightens his grip on the book, not sure what to make of the sensation. He feels warmth spread through him and can’t help but smile with anticipation.

He feels the cool autumn breeze on his face and arms as it makes her skirt dance across her knees. She always made these woods come alive with her stories of the wind fairies, I know she is here.

Her presence is particularly strong as I near the edge of the woods as it spills into the shore of the lake. I smell her fragrance emanating from the leaves on the trees as they sway in the breeze around me.

I hear her lyrical voice echo from the waves as they sweep against the shore and carry in the wind all around me. I see her smile reflected as the light glitters across the lakes’ surface.

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