Excerpt
Anniversary


Thursday
Even though James Hart was an elderly 78, his eyes still captured a youthful flame that burnt bright… two orbs, striking shades of grass green. On demand, they became as vivid as newly found emeralds; twinkling with every mischievous smile. Deep-set yet charismatic; Hart’s eyes like precious gems would often captivate an audience gazing upon them through sallow leathery skin, his gnarled complexion softly masked by a bedraggled smoky-grey beard; Hart’s long whiskers fell fluidly into a soft grey coverlet that lay across his chest, the unkempt bulk of the beard lightly stirred with every single breath.

Using his much-loved walking stick James Hart ambled through the coniferous Forest. Pushing through the last of the thicket he lightly brushed himself down in the manner of a Gentleman; a delicate scent of pine wafted into the clearing following Hart toward Jackdaws Quarry; pulling his frayed sweater closer he paused looking toward an overcast sky. Hart huffed blighting the appalling weather, shaking his cane toward the heavens with immense displeasure.
Hart walked a little further easing himself down onto a hefty chunk of Red Sandstone, its beautiful plateau with spectacular views of the Wye Valley never ceased to take his breath away.
The anvil-shaped Sandstone had an advantage point of overlooking the lowest point of the Silurian limestone Quarry… their place, their special place.
The natural bevel-shaped seating accommodated James for over forty years; he’d often used the polished stone for respite, it was the same chunk of Red Sandstone James had laid Rose Hart to rest: he was meticulous, being faithful to his wife’s exact wishes… James carefully poured her ashes on top of the Sandstone next to himself; the relocated ashes formed neatly into a mound. For a while, he watched a gentle breeze swirl around the earthly pyramid he’d created… for a short time the two elements toyed with one another, the breeze swirled around the five pounds of ash, softly teasing it, his wife little by little ebbed away. It was that day in particular he felt close to Rose, her presence has never been as strong before, or since that day.

They both sat together for one last time, watching the sunrise. He stayed with her, sitting close to her ashes all that day, feeling the westerly wind gently take Rose on her final journey.
He felt a gentle breeze brush across his face the moment he closed his eyes; the warm current of air wrapped around him almost like a delicate embrace whispering his name. It was at that exact moment he felt her caress for the very last time, his beautiful Red Rose turned to ash forever.
‘Absolutely loath heights,’ he said with dread toward the plummeting depth.
There was a definite empathy within his eyes the moment he tossed the single stemmed Rose over the edge,
‘The Earth is the Lords, and the fullness thereof. Another year apart has passed us by,’ he sighed, remembering her favourite psalm watching the Rose tumble into the early morning mist until it finally vanished, ‘happy anniversary my darling.’
The unsure gloom that plagued Hart’s mind disappeared the very instant the Rose left his fingertips.

‘Everything’s eventual,’ he said pausing to stand, ‘everything including you my love.’
There was an air of remoteness about him as he gazed across the early morning mist. Its bleakness lay motionless; stretching out along Symonds Yat… across the valley as far as the eye could see, the morning mist lay, like an enchanted Ocean. A small cluster of treetops caught his eye, Hart looked toward the remarkable green sails peering above the bluish mist almost like yachts on a millpond; they emerged above the mist rising tall out of the Oceanic haze; Hart imagined them to be in competition; racing out of the valley toward the sunrise, maybe toward a new beginning? He closed his eyes, his beautiful Rose Hart at the bow, smiling, beckoning.
A tide of loneliness swelled in his eyes, ‘Rose,’ he exhaled, ‘I miss you so—so much.’