Dusk

The light mist at the horizon blurred the sea into the sky in one uniform shade of cobalt blue. He sat on the jagged outcrop of rock, overlooking the bay. The north west sea wind slipped and swirled over his bald head. The wind had not changed, in all these years. It still sang to him, a different tune every time - just what he wanted to hear. The blues it sang now seemed beckoned him to fly far away, from beyond the open sea.

He stared into empty space with tired eyes. Half open with memories, half closed with a life gone by. Clouds that had morphed into the shape of wooden horses, were melting like orange chocolate souffle. He could see the surf breaking on the shore. Flashes of white hope that disappeared as soon they formed.

Sixty four. Had it really been that long? He held his right hand in front of him and traced the lines with his left hand. Another thing that had not changed. His aging fingers were shaking now. Funnily though, because he had never been more sure of what he was going to do next.

He rolled the sleeves of his checkered flannel shirt. Yes, it was time. His frayed denims carelessly dangled over the sole of his mud crusted boots. He took out the crumpled, folded sheet of paper from his pocket. The folds had become as much a part of the sheet as the writing. He opened the letter and read it one last time. Time, that seemed to have a way of getting lost in its folds.

Threads of a frayed memory,
Yarns of a future that has passed,
A night wrapped in a letter you wrote,
And a few days of monsoon.

Autumn of a few crumpled leaves,
An evening lost in a misplaced earring,
Clothes let out to dry, and a dry heart,
Crescent of the new moon.

Permission to breathe one last time,
Last moist breath of that parting kiss,
Mottled pages of that novel you wrote,
Now, then, sometime soon.

A few stones broke loose and rolled down, as he stood up. His legs had gone to sleep. Yet, he wanted to peer down and see exactly where the rocks broke the fall of the nothingness around him. He bent his head down and held his loose spectacles with one hand, lest it fall down before time. That would be such a pity. He did not want to loose a second of the view, all the way down.

This place was just right. He could see the endless sea before him, the infinite sky over and the hard, lifeless rocks below. "Grandpa, grandpa!" A voice called. He turned around. A small figure in a polka dotted skirt was running out towards him from the direction of the foster care home. "It's time for dinner, grandpa." "Coming, sweetheart."

With one last look at the letter in his hand, he let it go. He stood there as it dissolved into the wet evening. A tiny hand gently slipped into his trembling fingers. "Let's go, grandpa." "Yes, my love, lets go."