This post is written for Emilia’s Picture It and Write Challenge. He could here the sirens. The police sirens. The police that were after him. The neighbor had called the police after hearing the gunfire. She was dead. He had made sure of that.
Written for Haibun Thinking. For some other stories click on the blue frog at the bottom of this post.
His father died in 2006. He wasn’t yet forty when he took his life.
He went home for his memorial service. The once small town had grown quite large in his absence. Shops filled what before were decaying buildings. The tourist trade had accounted for this turn around he thought. Most of the roads were paved now, including the old rutted main street that he remembered. Strangers were everywhere but no old friends were to be found.
There was a fine restaurant where the butcher was previously located. Yet the town still seemed almost the same to him. The family old church still stood at the end of the alley. More tourist now than congregation.
His mother and his eldest sister had died at the age of fifty-five. He knows he is living on borrowed time. Perhaps he has the way to end things on his terms. He continues on.
Too green the springing April grass,
Too blue the silver-speckled sky,
For me to linger here, alas,
While happy winds go laughing by,
Wasting the golden hours indoors,
Washing windows and scrubbing floors.
Too wonderful the April night,
Too faintly sweet the first May flowers,
The stars too gloriously bright,
For me to spend the evening hours,
When fields are fresh and streams are leaping,
Wearied, exhausted, dully sleeping.
That summer we spent between homes. Pulling up roots after fifteen years was quite an ordeal.
The old home sold in the first week. The new home being built would not be ready for three months. The solution that worked for us was to rent a condo for those three months. In Vermont! A long way from our new home being built in Florida. Both looking forward to what retirement will bring.
My home has no walls to look upon
no roof to stave off wild beasts or tame the restless seas
no window glass, so clear my days to gaze
A soul to dwell in mystery
so soon my days to fly away
yet stand the oaks of long ago
watching children play
Morning wore a robe of clouded sun
rain washed the day away, til broke the sun again
hidden in a thicket brush sang a tiny bird
sweet songs to light the darkness
from this world