Artist: Christine Comyn

A Certain Touch

A sudden fluttering sound followed by a flash of red catches his attention. Dylan looks up from his writing and searches for his friend. Momentarily distracted from his words, he feels the cool breeze wash over him through the open window as he looks for movement. “Ah, there you are Chase” he says as he spots his red cardinal friend hopping along the ground at the edge of the bushes.

As if hearing Dylan, Chase quickly tilts his head towards the open window – but, seemingly on alert. ‘Hmm – there’s something different about you today’ Dylan catches himself thinking. Before he is able to finish the thought, he tries to register a new flash of red – and the blur of two red cardinals darting in and out of the bushes – in an aggressive game of tag. “Ah, so that wasn’t Chase” Dylan smiles to himself as they disappear into the woods.

As Dylan returns to his writing, an unanswered question teases his mind, “Hmm, how did I know something was different with that red cardinal?” He silently laughs to himself as the rational parts of him lay out possible reasons. His crown was slightly darker than Chase’s – he tilted his head differently – his feet seemed shorter – his… The other parts of him simply smile within at the futility to apply logic – he just knew … that was all.

Feeling his mind come back into focus, Dylan looks at the writing on the paper. He reads the three new paragraphs just written by him, and yet not. They are his words – the style unmistakably his. Yet, he doesn’t remember writing them. He traces his fingers over the letters on the page. Yes, they feel right – given the situation – a certain touch of sadness.

Another distinctive flutter of wings catches his ears. Dylan looks up to the spot he knew she’d be – and there she was. Hope sits in her usual branch in the oak tree just outside his window – a casual air about her. More than once he wondered if Nicole would return to him as Hope always did for Chase. “And … did Hope just smile at me?’ Dylan shakes his head in amusement. ‘Ok – back to my writing’ he says wistfully.

His mind drifts back into the last words on the page. ‘Hmm – what comes next?” he wonders. A mischievous breeze flows in through the window and plays with the loose pages he set to the side earlier. He reacts quickly to catch them before they blow off his desk. The words ‘and … he thinks of her’ come into view. ‘Yes, of course – it fits”, he sighs.

Michael