Fascinated by his shabby sweater, cheap shoes, and expensive attaché I follow him through the park. Sitting down on a park bench he opens his brief case and pulls out an apple. He motions me sit beside him and offers me the apple. I take it though I’m not hungry, I resist the urge to arrange his unkempt hair and run my fingers over his unshaven chin. His dark eyes look through mine and into a well hidden soul. He says he hasn’t worked in a while and spends most of his afternoons by the pond watching the swans. Feeling as though I am eavesdropping a secret I stand, say good bye and lie, I have to go, I am late for an appointment. He asks me to come back again. I nod with no intention of returning.
That night I wake in a sweat. I rise and stand before my mirror, my hands lightly caress my body and my eyes spill unexplained tears. Compelled by longing we meet again and again. We feed yellow green pears to one another and like children our laughter echoes among the trees. The limbs of the Birch trees are alive with birdsong as though they sense our sweetness.
Too soon winter is breathing her cold breath through us. A snowy owl watches from the brittle bark of a branch. Where is the sun that burned like fire? The park is blanketed with hoarfrost, still camellia blossoms cling to broad leaved evergreens. Birds pull their frozen wings tight against their tiny skeletons. Spring has shunned the park of sorrow. I tug his overcoat tightly across my shoulders, run my shiver of fingers through its rough threads. Overhead gray clouds reflect his eyes. With no way to hold it back, we have lost one another. I call his name in the silence, in return a wild orchid tumbles down , I reach out my hand and catch it.
PS: written by John Hulme
“A shabby, tangled sweater, and a shabby, tangled life.
> Sometimes the most beautiful of lives is just a fibre away from the ugliest.
> I’m scared, and lost, and alone,
> with the world’s most precious secret tucked underneath my arm,
> wondering whether to bury it in hoar frost or hold it high”.
copyright John Hulme