Hilltop Diary.


The inspiration.

For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.

– Ernest Miller Hemingway

The story.

Hilltop Diary.

On a hilltop at sunrise, they twirled & whirled for the last time, all over again. Hurried clouds burned carmine and purple, and she was in his arms, as she hummed.

“This is for the daybreak & life. For dreams, reverence & chance of the dice.”

He spun her like a dervish, wheeling & spinning her about and about, watching her long, dark tresses mask the face like a funeral veil.

“So come, o crazy man, and let me lose. My feet’s been walking the whole night to reach you.”

He dipped her body in a waltz , kissed her scarlet mouth, then lifted her into the azure heavens. She laughed a loud, short laugh with the type of delight that he couldn’t remember ever being privy to.

“Let’s dance upon a hill, let’s play in the heath. Let’s eat, drink and merry be, till out last breath”.

And the melody concluded, and stars appeared in the western horizon. Her expression was whimsical. His heart kept racing.

“It’s time, isn’t it,” he asked her, begrudgingly.

“It is,” she said. “It’s time.”

And so he woke, and the bed next to him was empty, and once more he was a widower.

He put on his ring and practiced that brilliant smile in the mirror, a smile that made heads turn & his eyes crinkle, the sort of smile she loved. He practiced that perfect smile &  faced the day.

Advertisements

One thought on “Hilltop Diary.

Tell me what you thought of this post.

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