Artist: Childe Hassam

Between the Notes

With her index finger lightly touching her lower lip, Kristen stares out her bedroom window – lost in thoughts of him. It seems like moments ago she was folded in his arms – “was it really moments ago?” she wonders. She looks back at her bed – almost expecting to see him lying there – instead of the emptiness that greets her.

Kristen smiles as she remembers how he came to her in her waking dream. It has to mean something – this was the fourth night in a row she dreamt him. And yet … she still had not heard from him. Not a word. “Is this really how it will end for us – unresolved silence?” she asks herself. With a sigh she turns back to the window.

A sudden series of musical chirps from her red cardinal friend evokes a broad smile that transforms her worried face. “It’s as if he hears my thoughts” she chuckles as she searches for him. She finds him in his usual spot – the oak tree branch just above the bird feeder. He looks right at her as he lets out another series of chirps – then a long silence – as if waiting for her reply.

Thankful for the momentary reprieve from the empty silence, she lets her thoughts slowly return to him. But, now she feels a movement within her. Forgotten notes start to play in her mind. She moves her fingers to her chest and begins to tap out the melody – to bring the music close to her heart. She feels the notes resonate within her. She smiles inside to see her cardinal friend still watching her – as if still waiting for her reply. “Does he know?” she wonders.

The music begins to evolve and expand within her. He is close – he has to be – she hears him in the music – her passion is on fire. Without realizing it, she sweeps her hands in the air – the notes play on her fingertips. She quickly walks in rhythm with the notes to the door and towards her piano in the parlor. She has to release them.

Sitting at her piano, with eyes closed – her fingers momentarily rest silent on the keys. She feels his presence as the empty silence ends…

Michael

Artist: Leonid Afremov

Autumn Leaves

With his waking moment, Aiden senses the fleeting remnants of his dream – of an unknown her – images teasing him. He rubs his eyes – as if this action would pull them back into focus. But, they quickly fade from his mind with quiet laughter. “Damn! – so close this time”, he thinks.

He smiles with a slightly frustrated sigh – the familiar beginning to his day. Each morning – he wakes up purposefully trying to capture the memories of his dreams. “Why do so many of his friends remember their dreams in vivid detail – and not him?” he wonders.

And yet – every now and then his dreams slide open as he wakes – small vivid fragments remain for moments. These fragments always spark creative writing thoughts. “It’s like capturing lightning in a bottle” he laughs to himself. Although he didn’t capture lightning this morning, there is definitely a flash teasing the edges of his mind – he can sense it …just out of reach … something important.

Fighting the natural inertia of his body, he slowly swings his legs over the side of the bed – “almost up”, he smiles. A voice in his head says “sleep in five more minutes – maybe you’ll remember your dream.” Aiden laughs out loud at the thought – a daily argument with himself … and some days he loses. Not today though – he stands up and prepares himself for the day.

A little more awake after a shower and shave, he dresses and then walks into the den. The familiar musky smell of books greets him – he pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. “Now, who will I read today?” he wonders as he traces his fingers over the book bindings along his bookshelves. He stops at Anna Karenina – “Hmm, wonder why Tolstoy feels right today?”

Aiden pulls the well-worn book off the shelf and opens it. Without looking at the page, he slowly traces his fingers over the words. Feeling their texture as he recites from memory the first line, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

“Such a great first line”, he thinks with a sigh. Closing the book, he absently walks over to the window and opens it to feel the cool autumn breeze. He smiles at the sight of glistening maple leaves still clinging to their branches – defiant to the end – radiant with bold vibrant colors.

The fresh smell of wet leaves waft through the open window and makes him think of coffee – and breakfast at the café. Closing the window, he heads out the door with Anna Karenina firmly in his grasp. Images of a girl unknown momentarily flash through his mind – playing along the edges.

He continues to search his mind as he breathes in the fresh autumn air during his walk through the park. As he nears the café entrance, he feels flashes of her radiate through the book. He tightens his grip on the book, not sure what to make of the sensation. He feels warmth spread through him … and can’t help but smile with anticipation as he steps inside…

Michael

Artist: Christine Comyn

And He Hears

As she rounds the bend, Megan slows her pace to let the cool breeze coming off the lake wash over her. She smiles at the thought of his touch – a sad smile still. Looking at the familiar park bench situated along the edge of the trail – with its picturesque view of the lakefront through the trees, she pauses … wonders why she puts herself through this emotional torture each Saturday morning.

And yet – she is drawn to their bench – yes, their bench – she relents and sits – as she has done each Saturday for a while. As if agreeing with her actions, she hears the rustling of the leaves in a dance with the breeze … as well as a pair of cardinals fluttering from branch to branch – settling nearby to join her.

Megan sighs … smiles as she remembers conversations with Peter. “This is a fairytale”, she told him several times. After all, it was the only way she could describe how perfectly irrational their relationship was. “Could it even be described as a relationship?” she wondered – more than once. They had never really met.

And yet … she knew him – knew things about him no one else did. And he knew her – knew things about her no one else did. There was a connection … deeper than physical – she knew it – she felt it. Yes … this was a relationship she decided. And there were certain moments when she dared to believe it could be more. But, it was complicated –life always is she thought.

A slight spray from the lake carried by the breeze brought her momentarily out of her drifting thoughts. Megan brightened and smiled – it was Peter of course. And without thinking she said – as she always did when sitting on this bench, “Good morning Peter – miss you.” And as he told her many times, “I hear you – always … just call me”. She waited for his response in the breeze. Her two cardinal friends sudden chirping made her smile broaden.

But, it was the oddly familiar voice in the distance and footsteps approaching the bend that caught her breath … did she really just hear someone whisper her name?

Michael

Artist: Garmash

Along The Edges

Pausing along the top of the ridge, Anna embraces the warm salty ocean breeze that engulfs her. With the view spectacular as usual, she would normally soak up the beauty around her – but not today. Instead, her mind battles to protect her from thoughts of Kyle. She concentrates – reinforces her walls – sensing his presence flowing along her edges. Still, she wonders … why do thoughts of him continue to persist? After all, he has been away for so long.

Anna sighs and starts her descent to the beach – her safe place – a place of cleansing. Reaching the bottom of the ridge, she automatically removes her sandals. Her toes dig into the soft grainy texture of the sand – she always loves this feeling. She hears the waves crashing against the shore – they seem to call out to her.

She wanders slowly towards the shore’s edge – fighting with each step to keep thoughts of Kyle from penetrating her defenses. She finds herself focusing on the sound of the waves washing against the shore … a repeating – loud seductive swooshing sound – getting louder as she nears the shore’s edge.

Finally reaching the shore’s edge, waves wash over her feet … the ocean spray tickles her skin. At first, she thinks she might be hearing things … the seductive swooshing sound that precedes each wave sounds like “Kyle”. Her mind is playing tricks – has to be, she reasons.

She considers retreating … taking a few steps back – just out of reach. But the next wave pulls her forward … inviting her in … she begins to enjoy the soothing rhythmic flow around her body. She continues to hear “Kyle”coming from the swooshing sound of the waves against the beach again – she definitely hears it – “doesn’t she?” she wonders.

With each wave, the ocean mist dances along her skin – evokes a familiar sensation … she sighs, thinking of his touch. She slowly smiles at the memory … thoughts of him flood through her defenses. “How could he feel so close?” she wonders…

A group of seagulls sitting idly by the water’s edge further north suddenly cry out … fly towards her with seeming purpose … she looks in their direction … spots the outline of a man walking along the beach’s edge – oddly familiar … coming her way…

Michael

Artist: Taras Loboda

A Voice Within

With her mind in overdrive, Emily tries to calm herself by gazing at the woods from her bedroom window. She loves her woods … and especially at this time of night. She is entranced by the ghostly shadow patterns dancing in her view – created by the full moon peeking through the trees and a mischievous breeze teasing the leaves.

Emily turns to look at her clock – 2 AM and she’s wide awake. Her mind refuses to rest – a voice within her insists on being heard. Even so, she is determined to ignore it. She turns back to the window and begins to focus on the fleeting shadows. It’s strange though – there’s something familiar in the flowing shapes – she feels it.

As she concentrates on the shapes, the voice within her begins to fade – as if giving her space. Emily starts to discern a pattern with the moving shapes – “parts of a whole?” she wonders. There is definitely something familiar – something almost life-like about them. She’s not sure why they seem familiar – and a feeling of caution rises in her.

And yet – ever so slowly – a distant thought surfaces above the caution. At first, a hint of vague memories – dimly formed. Her eyes narrow as she tries to maintain focus on the ghostly shapes – she senses conflicted emotions and wonders…

Emily almost jumps out of her skin when she hears the laugh. “Where did it come from?” she hears herself thinking. And then – she hears it again. She must be mistaken – “it is probably just an animal deep in the woods making that sound” she tries to reason … and yet, she knows that laugh. Yes, that laugh she remembers … and the memories begin to flood her mind – her internal walls no longer hold them back.

Suddenly, she sees his shape in the previously amorphous moving shadow patterns – and the memory of his voice floats around her. She smiles at the memory … a quiet sad smile. Her mind races again – as she wonders at possibilities. Ethan has been out of her life for so long … he must be far away .. and yet … he feels so near right now.

The sound of a pebble bouncing off her window momentarily stops her thoughts…

Michael

Artist: Richard Miller

A Simple Smile

Walking this path – their path – after so many years released a flood of emotions in Jacqueline. She saw Peter’s form flow in front of her. His eyes alert – sweeping the peripheries of the path – looking for movement in the trees. Of course, he would actually be behind her at this moment, she chuckled to herself.

He would playfully have her walk slightly in front of him. With a broad smile he would say, “I just want to enjoy the view for a moment.” His words always had the same effect on her – she would blush a deep burgundy red. Instinctively, she reached for his arm, like she’d done so many times before. She was met with the cool autumn breeze flowing through her extended hand – the sensation teased her memory.

She felt the sway of her dress against her knees as she walked. She smiled remembering how that simple movement always entranced Peter. He would pull her close to him again saying, “I have to feel you.” She reached down to touch the moving fabric. Somehow, the feel of the fabric on her fingers made her feel as if he was there … and he was there, she decided.

She reached out for him again – this time her arm slid perfectly inside of his – momentarily losing her breath from the electric feel of his fingers as they interlocked with hers. They ambled along the path – in no particular hurry. Fragments of their conversation fluttered around her – she tried to remember the words – what were they talking about? Oh yes – the cardinals at play in the trees along their path. “Look quick Jacs, there – in the oak tree to the left”, Peter would say as he pointed their interlocked hands in the direction he meant.

She would hear the rustle first and then see the brown cardinal dart out, quickly followed by a red cardinal. They would sit close to each other on a branch – but not too close. The red cardinal would slowly, cautiously, hop towards the brown cardinal. She would let him almost reach her – and just as he was almost next to her, she would dart off.

“It’s their dance – she’ll return,” Peter would say with that simple smile.

As she rounded the corner of the path leading to their spot next to the lake, Jacqueline felt his presence fade from her. “He’ll return” she heard a voice inside say as she felt the first tear…

Michael

Artist: Denise Armstrong

A Language Unknown

Claire looked out the window, vaguely aware of the light snow fall. Thoughts streamed and dispersed through her like the sunlight filtering through the trees. Usually, her thinking was precise – images sharp in her mind. But, today … yes but, today … Damn, she couldn’t keep a single train of thought – not today.

Ethan stood directly behind her, wondering what he could do – could say. With natural instinct, he gently stroked her shoulder – as if his touch could say what he could not. Claire softened for a moment – then suddenly recoiled at his touch. The painful memory of yesterday shot through her body.

Ethan stood there frozen by her reaction to his touch. He looked pass her rigid form, fixing his gaze on the falling snow. “You want me to leave?” he finally asked. She momentarily whirled around to face him, but said nothing. Her expression tore through his heart as she quickly turned back towards the window.

Ethan stared pass Claire for several moments. His eyes would not obey his desire to breathe in every detail of her. Instead he only saw her outline – his focus pulled to the snow falling. He was struck by the blanket of pure whiteness on the ground – how the snow seemed to cleanse the earth – to protect it.

He had a strong desire to reach out to Claire – to pull her into his arms – to protect her. But deep inside, he knew it was too soon. Instead, Ethan slowly turned and walked to the foyer. He quietly put on his coat, wrapped his scarf around his neck and pulled his gloves out his pockets.

Before opening the door, he turned to say the words … but, they would not come out.

Claire didn’t hear the door open, but she felt the blast of cold air hit her and then subside. A shiver ran through her body. She continued to stare blankly at the trees lining the edge of the forest in the back.

She caught sight of Ethan walking into the woods and began to softly cry. Although she willed him to, he never looked back. Traces of him were erased by the snow fall quickly covering his tracks as he disappeared into the woods.

Michael

Artist: Unknown

Just Words

Silvia excitedly looked up from her journal again. ”Footsteps” – she heard footsteps hadn’t she? The quiet whisper of the breeze gently playing with her hair was the only reply. She sighed for a long moment – conflicting emotions flooding her mind. He would come – he had to…

Silvia continued to write her story – their story. Would the words come true – just as Erin had promised – she wondered? Feeling a chill starting to settle in, she reluctantly looked at her watch – it was getting late – too late, perhaps. With the greatest care – as if afraid to disturb the words – she closed her journal.

Rising from the park bench, Silvia felt the familiar lifting of weight – something leaving her – more correctly, someone leaving her. “Good night, Erin’ she smiled to herself. She had barely taken two steps when she felt it – out the corner of her right eye – and then she heard them … footsteps … in the distance … running towards her. ”Now, you must finish the story”, Erin’s voice whispered within her…

Michael

Photographer: Daniel E. Johnson

Just Because

Irene walked through the park, breathing in the cool autumn air. She smiled at the brilliant flashes of color all around her – she loved this time of year. As she rounded the familiar bend in the path, she slowed her pace – anticipating his smile. The bench – their bench came into view – empty, except for fallen leaves at the moment.

Irene played with the fringed edges of her red scarf as she approached their bench. He’d surprised her with the scarf last week ‘just because’ he said. Her smile returned at that memory. Brushing some of the leaves aside, she sat down and knew she had to write. She pulled out her journal and started ‘just because’ …

Michael

Artist: Christine Comyn

Burgundy Firework

“A blaze of defiance”, Peter said as he wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Peter…” Kristen let the words trail as she felt his kiss along her neck. She instinctively folded into him – her hands sliding naturally over his. How did he always manage to make her feel like … like what? She tried to grasp the word to describe how he made her feel – like home, perhaps.

“The last leaf – burgundy – hanging defiantly on our elm tree”, Peter continued. “She just doesn’t want to leave the comfort of her tree” Kristen floated out. Peter squeezed Kristen slightly more as he said “Yes … I can understand that – and perhaps the tree doesn’t want her to leave as well”.

They stood together looking out of their kitchen window into the backyard. The ground was blanketed in white from the late night snowfall. Peter noted the snow seemed to mute the sound and colors of the backyard. The single exception was the lone burgundy leaf.

“Do you think the leaf will stay?” Kristen suddenly asked.

He could feel the weight of her question – the hidden complexity. He knew he should answer, but the words would not come. An invisible force held them back. She turned into him – her eyes holding his. “Could she see what he wanted to tell her?” he wondered. She said nothing for a few moments and then slowly turned back in his arms.

They watched in silence as the leaf held fast to her branch. All Peter could do was hold on to Kristen as tight as possible.

Michael