Every Person is a Novel …

Keukenhof Tulips

Jacqueline stands looking out across the water.  The wind whips through her short hair.  It buffets at her, tearing the sounds of the city away.  She is oblivious.  Her eyes see the gentle curve of the bridge that should be leading her away across the water.  Her eyes star beyond the line of windmills turning by force of this same wind.  Her thoughts are focused on the land beyond the bridge.

She imagines what she won’t be seeing.  Her grandson running to meet her.  She feels his arms grabbing at her neck in an enthusiastic hug.  He pulls away too soon as children do, grabs her hand, drawing her towards his toys.  Her tears are born away by on the wind unnoticed.

She stares at the beautiful bridge that she should be crossing.   The vertical columns stare at her forbiddingly, defying her access.  In their rigidity she hears her son’s voice and feels his will.  The wind whirls through and around her calming her thoughts.  It tries to push her away.  She plants her feet, standing her ground.  Her eyes remain focused on the bridge and the shoreline beyond.

The bridge.  That bridge she can not cross.  Tears are whipped away by the wind.  Her son’s words barring her access to the love of family that she craves.  The wind takes her miserable thoughts before she thinks them.  How did she get here, to this place?  Staring at a bridge, unable to cross it.

The wind dies down for a moment and she collects herself.  She turns her focus heavenward as she silently prays for the her heart’s desires to be met.  She grabs again at her faith and let’s go of her despair, her hopelessness, her fear.

Walking through the cobbled streets, she is distracted and glances past the beauty surrounding her.   She wanders through parks not seeing the avenues of stately trees and wide squares of grass.She walks by the swans swimming effortlessly on the blue of the lake.  She doesn’t see the palace guards nor the line of bustling tourists.  The gentle wind whips the sights away.

She stops to buy a postcard.  The Little Mermaid sitting on her rock.  She smiles.

Stopping at a cafe, she looks at the mermaid sitting on her rock.  She turns the card over and signs “love Gran-mère”.  “I was here little one,” she thinks to herself.  “I came to see you as promised.”  Her smile fades as she thinks of her son.  Her hearts twists with the agony at the words he spoke.  It twists for herself and for him.  At the hurt he must be feeling to speak those words.  She sighs and prays.  She offers a prayer for him.  For healing in his soul.  Prays that he will forgive her.  She prays to see her family restored.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s