Overland Goodbye
- Work in Progress -
Tears filled both of their faces. He delicately placed his hand in hers. Feeling the waning warmth of her hand in his sent tingles through his arm. He sat in the chair and put his other hand on the back of hers holding her hand he closed his eyes.
John opened his eyes sitting on the tailgate of his old truck. Looking out at the land that stretched out before him under the rising sun. Waves of memories flooded his mind. It was a small couple of acres but he had worked hard to achieve it over the years. A bird squawked overhead as it landed on a nearby fence post. John turned to look at the large black bird staring back at him. Its dark eyes seemingly peering into his soul.
"Well hello there!" John said softly.
The bird squawked and tilted its head looking back at John. It stretched its wing out and trucked its beak under it for a brief moment. It's head popped back up and continued looking around.
John saw the trees near his property line begin to sway. The prairie grass swaying as the breeze flowed its way up the hill. The bird braced itself as the breeze hit both of them. The bird squawked as it rotated its body tilting its head looking down.
"Yeah, I think it's time to go too!" John said softly to the bird.
Stretching out its wings, the bird gave a brief squawk and took flight. Diving down the hill before him before soaring upwards.
John reached out and grabbed the cup off of the tailgate. He watched as the black bird flew away. As he drank the lukewarm coffee he lost sight of the bird quickly. Setting the coffee cup down he reached for his journal and pen. Jotting a few things down on its pages.
The journal was brown leather bound. Its stitching hand made. John’s fingers brushed against the stitching. His mind remembered the renaissance faire where he learned how to stitch his own leather journals. It was an old craft, but one that had served him well over the years. There was something about writing in a journal that he made that helped anchor his mind to the words being written. On most machine crafted journals one might find at a dollar store school supply section John had found a strange blankness on their pages. They had their usefulness, so did his homemade journals.
John closed the leather journal and slid from the tailgate. The leaf springs of the vehicle groaned a little as he stood up. With a creak and a loud pop, John shut the tailgate. The rock driveway surface crunched against his boots as he walked towards the house.
He took a deep breath as his hands gripped the doorknob.As he entered their home His mind wondered back many years ago. They lived in a smaller home in the city back then. He felt the echos of the memories the excitement his son used to have when John had come home from work. Remembering the feeling of his son running up to him and wrapping his arms around his Leg in a big bear hug.
"You never texted me you were on your way home?" he heard a familiar voice in his mind remembering it clearly. It was almost as though he was back there the memory so vivid.
"I'm sorry." He’d said genuinely.
"Is everything okay?" she had asked with a passive glare from sitting on the couch.
"It is now that I'm at home!" he replied.
He'd expected her to start an argument. She just forced a small smile and went back to reading her book without another word. He'd sat down on the couch playing with their son for a little bit. Wanting to talk to her but not wanting to interrupt her book. Their son ran off into his room.
"Are you okay?" he'd asked quietly.
"I'm fine!" she replied swiftly.
"How was your day?"
"It was fine!" she replied still engaged in her book.
John looked for something else to say wanting to connect with her but not knowing how. Their son returned with a couple of books in his hand. Setting them beside John.
“Daddy, would you read to me?” their son tried to say in his toddler voice. John smiled and lifted his kid to his lap and started reading.
- Work in Progress - To Be Continued -
John opened his eyes sitting on the tailgate of his old truck. Looking out at the land that stretched out before him under the rising sun. Waves of memories flooded his mind. It was a small couple of acres but he had worked hard to achieve it over the years. A bird squawked overhead as it landed on a nearby fence post. John turned to look at the large black bird staring back at him. Its dark eyes seemingly peering into his soul.
"Well hello there!" John said softly.
The bird squawked and tilted its head looking back at John. It stretched its wing out and trucked its beak under it for a brief moment. It's head popped back up and continued looking around.
John saw the trees near his property line begin to sway. The prairie grass swaying as the breeze flowed its way up the hill. The bird braced itself as the breeze hit both of them. The bird squawked as it rotated its body tilting its head looking down.
"Yeah, I think it's time to go too!" John said softly to the bird.
Stretching out its wings, the bird gave a brief squawk and took flight. Diving down the hill before him before soaring upwards.
John reached out and grabbed the cup off of the tailgate. He watched as the black bird flew away. As he drank the lukewarm coffee he lost sight of the bird quickly. Setting the coffee cup down he reached for his journal and pen. Jotting a few things down on its pages.
The journal was brown leather bound. Its stitching hand made. John’s fingers brushed against the stitching. His mind remembered the renaissance faire where he learned how to stitch his own leather journals. It was an old craft, but one that had served him well over the years. There was something about writing in a journal that he made that helped anchor his mind to the words being written. On most machine crafted journals one might find at a dollar store school supply section John had found a strange blankness on their pages. They had their usefulness, so did his homemade journals.
John closed the leather journal and slid from the tailgate. The leaf springs of the vehicle groaned a little as he stood up. With a creak and a loud pop, John shut the tailgate. The rock driveway surface crunched against his boots as he walked towards the house.
He took a deep breath as his hands gripped the doorknob.As he entered their home His mind wondered back many years ago. They lived in a smaller home in the city back then. He felt the echos of the memories the excitement his son used to have when John had come home from work. Remembering the feeling of his son running up to him and wrapping his arms around his Leg in a big bear hug.
"You never texted me you were on your way home?" he heard a familiar voice in his mind remembering it clearly. It was almost as though he was back there the memory so vivid.
"I'm sorry." He’d said genuinely.
"Is everything okay?" she had asked with a passive glare from sitting on the couch.
"It is now that I'm at home!" he replied.
He'd expected her to start an argument. She just forced a small smile and went back to reading her book without another word. He'd sat down on the couch playing with their son for a little bit. Wanting to talk to her but not wanting to interrupt her book. Their son ran off into his room.
"Are you okay?" he'd asked quietly.
"I'm fine!" she replied swiftly.
"How was your day?"
"It was fine!" she replied still engaged in her book.
John looked for something else to say wanting to connect with her but not knowing how. Their son returned with a couple of books in his hand. Setting them beside John.
“Daddy, would you read to me?” their son tried to say in his toddler voice. John smiled and lifted his kid to his lap and started reading.
- Work in Progress - To Be Continued -
