Photo by Sascha Darlington

After Summer’s Dream

I move to help Aunt Celia return to the house, but she grabs my hand.

“Please just a few more moments. It’s such a beautiful afternoon. I’ve been wondering if I can take these memories with me. The sunshine. The hummingbird. This breeze. Do you feel it, Emmy? It’s like a soft caress, gentle fingers soothing my brow like Mama used to do when I was sick. What if these memories come with me? What if they’re part of the collective consciousness, and I can help others slow down and appreciate the natural world around them? What if I could make the businessmen stop each morning and smell autumn in the air or the despairing find some hope in migrating birds who fight incredible odds simply to move to a new location? I know, it’s silly. But you must understand.”

Her grasp on my hand has tightened. “I do understand. It’s a beautiful dream.”

She smiles. “I hope it’s not a dream. Just a few more minutes. Raggedy squirrel hasn’t come for his peanuts. You’ll feed him when I’m gone?”

“Of course.”

A day later she slips away in the garden as the blue asters bloom, and the sky is unmarred cerulean, and perhaps somewhere someone slows down to see the calling geese arrow south.

end

Sascha Darlington