Serenity of Blue

It wasn't something that came naturally. It wasn't as easy as peeling petals from a flower or tossing heavy stones in an endless stream. Saying goodbye was more difficult than swallowing the hard truth that this would be the last time. The last time two lovers would whisper sweet nothings and give kisses made of tender longings.

It seemed that when the flowers reached up and touched the morning sky, the spring would hear their stretching. The spring would sense the stirring of life and the wakefulness of the wind as she ushered in a sweetness to the air. She would whisper to the creek to run faster, away from the stillness of winter. The creek now danced and ran with the warm air. She moved as greenness speckled the forest floor and new shoots and sprouts made their way through frost-bitten leaves and warm decay. 

Everything happened in the spring, life was waking from its long slumber.

As swiftly as the wind catches a stray leaf, two lovers had met. Instantly tied together like stitching across a wool sweater. Ilene and Wren anticipated the welcome of spring. Winter had been cold and barren. The vast whiteness of snow resembled forgotten bedsheets sprayed across abandoned instruments waiting to be sung. They both awaited kisses made of sun. Ilene was comforted as she dreamt of their futures. Tucked away in a valley, they would house a barn cat and a herd of sheep. She told herself this as she slept. Wren thought of long days with the comfort of knowing they were together.

Soon after the sun had melted the snow and the richness of life began again, both Ilene and Wren found themselves craving the novelty of spring. On this day, the sky was speckled with sparse clouds and evening flares of sunsetting colors. They held hands on the bank of the Fraulein River, through forest pines and evergreen leaves. The river was swift, and she dashed and kissed the edges of the bank like the great force of the ocean's waves against the hillside of staggering strength. 

Wren held Illene's hands in his and embraced her fingers as he slowly moved between their familiarity. 

“I relish how your hands feel in mine. When I feel astray, I think of you and the sweetness of your voice and the softness of your kisses.” His voice trailed off slightly. “Spring always reminds me of how I feel with you. How easy it is for me to melt away like snow that melts from the embrace of the sun.” Wren took a deep breath. He could smell budding flowers and the freshness of green around him. He let his eyes close; the crispness of the air made his lungs feel alive.

Wren looked at peace as he stood in the speckled sun. Small, delicate shadows danced across his face as he swayed softly. Ilene rested her head against his shoulder and nuzzled her chin in the groove of his neck. He was warm and soft, safe and vulnerable. She felt her hand tighten against his as she breathed him in deeply. Her nose filled with the echoes of their life together. The faint aroma of their shared breakfast and the bitterness of freshly brewed coffee. She leaned backwards and let her body fall slowly to the ground, and her Wren followed. For hours, they sat on their blanket made of quilts. Sowing together fantasies of their future. As they watched the sun begin her migration across the horizon, they both knew it was nearly time for them to leave. The warmth had left the air, and the evening was swimming with the anticipation of stillness. 

“How do you suppose the garden will look upon the first light of summer?” Ilene stood up with a stretch. Her body adjusted to the coldness around her as she left the comfort of her love. “How I would pick you a million flowers to show how badly I love you.” She paused and looked at her feet. From there, her eyes moved across the mud-stained ground below her. The water gifted the landscape with, indeed, small parcels of blue and white. Ilene knelt down and picked up a single flower. The petals fell quickly between her fingers as she moved her hand closer to her face, hoping to smell the sweetness of her dreams. “I fear I have frightened them.” Her hand fell again to her side. Her gaze was now entranced on the bank of the river and the movement she hosted.

Wren stared at the curve of Ilene's face and the freckles upon her nose. They reminded him of the first night they met. Under the endless sky, sprinkled the light of a million stars. Dashed upon the black cascade like those very blue flowers which lined the dark sienna of mud along the river bank below them. He thought of the years before him, the warmth that surrounded the promise that they would be together. He pictured them hosting greyness together in the garden of their shared dreams and expiring youth.

Wren stood as he picked Ilene's hand from her side and kissed it delicately. His body shifted towards the river as he let his hand slip from hers. The rains had been heavy as of late. In recent days, the two of them sat side by side in the solitude of their home, sipping warm mugwort tea as they listened to the coo of raindrops, like notes being played on a grand piano. 

Today had been the first warm day, the sun had parted between the maples and pines. She had flickered between the leaves and let down rays of gold and emerald. Wren stared into the running water; he could see the reflections of those very same leaves. Parcels floated down on the wind and graced the water with dances of ripples. How swimming in this very body of water would surely cure them both from the heat that summer would bring. That very heat which eased itself through early spring days. His eyes fell below him as he examined the ground for speckles of blue. Stained with the burnt umber of mud, the faces of blue and white were hidden, awaiting a wash of rain, anticipating the showers that were soon to come again. Wren’s eyes followed the bankside and gazed through weeds and broken branches. Closer to the water, where the current ran stronger, the blue flowers were brighter, alive with the stamina of spring. 

Wren knelt to his knees and balanced himself as he extended his arm. He aimed for the perfect bunch of blue flowers. They almost seemed to bait the water with their breath. Wren imagined how they teased the river with the existence of their proximity. His knees quickly sank into the thick, stench of mud soiled with rotten leaves. He could smell the soil turn under his weight. As he guided his reach with a steady arm, as if he was reaching again for Ilene's grasp. Wren tenderly plucked a flower from the stream's embankment. Between his fingers, the flower was held, delicate and soft like kisses in the wind of autumn. 

With the softness of the flower in his hand, his hand moved back towards himself again. Resting above his heart, he grasped the delicacy of the flower with much care. Then, as suddenly as when a hillside crumbled after a heavy rain, the mud and corroded terrain below him lost balance. Its body gave way to the river and allowed her to eat up its remains. The shift embraced Wren with dirt and mud and took them all into the depths of the river below. She ate them with great greed. Like a whale swallowing a school of fish, the water clothed him in heavy folds of cold blankets made of blue. Illene had not a moment to gasp with horror or let out a scream. That moment frozen, Imprinting stillness of shock. 

She could still feel the warmth of his grasp between her fingers, the lasting words of how they would share kisses for eternity under moonlit nights. Ilene could, for some reason, taste the bitterness of mugwort on her tongue and the sweetness of honey in the back of her throat. Her body let out a shudder as tears violently burst from every seam. Her body crumbled to the ground as her hands escaped to her face. She felt weak and full of nausea. She could not cry; no voice or scream escaped her lungs. All that could be heard was the soft ripple of the current against the shore that stole her lover. The shore that swept him into the deep embrace of the earth. 

There was no way of telling how long it had been, for time stood on a crux in those moments.  Ilene's eyes, clouded with redness, raised to the shoreline. Frantic with the hope that Wren would be sitting by the bank, giggling quietly to himself. How he would be laughing at her now, how silly she looked hunched over in the wetness of the mud. Her clothes, stained with warm colors of burnt sienna and umber. 

Her eyes shifted between the bank and the water. Between the mud and the crisp, clean, flowing river. Her knees felt weak as he forced herself from her place between the weeds and ruin. Her arms guided her as she crawled forward, inching herself to the place where Wren last stood. Her hands grasped broken strands of grass and limp, lifeless leaves. The mud bubbled up between her fingertips. She clenched the ground with anger and dread. She sat where the warmth of Wren's body had sat; she could still feel him wrapped around her. She could feel the fleece of his sweater itch her skin in the most pleasant of irritants. Ilene’s body arched forward as the gravity of her sorrow guided her towards the cold. She wanted to feel safe again. She wanted to feel Wren with her again. She wanted to watch the fire melt the ice that the winter had cast. She yearned for the blossoming of yarrow and the songbirds to serenade the landscape between them. She sobbed for the last time. Great bellows of grief poured from her, waterfalls of heavy pain. She cried for Wren, for the life they were never going to share. For the barn cat that would never lie resting between them as they slept. For the garden which would never yield the joy of every coming season. She wept for the time they would never have with each other, for the night that would never come. 

And as quickly as a shooting star stretches itself across the vastness of darkness in the sky, Ilene's eyes closed, as her body gave way to the pull of the water. She slipped into the current and, for the last time, danced with it, and in part danced with the echoes of Wen. 

And it seemed that all in a moment, two connections were cast like stones thrown into a deep stream. Their lives, buried under the weight of flowing water. Forgotten like the serenity of the color blue.