In the Absence of Dialogue
Sometimes, we meet people with whom we connect incredibly fast. They inspire us, and hopefully we inspire them. We have fun and we have serious conversations. We listen and learn together. We look out for each other, and at the same time we seek each other out.
Then, as time goes by – sometimes too quickly for our own personal satisfaction and subsequent disappointment – the relationship between us whittles to nothing. Time, ‘life’, circumstances, a change of energies and emotions… anything can affect the way we were yesterday and the way we will be tomorrow.
You try to understand them, respecting their space if that is what they ask of you. But if they are not forthcoming afterwards, there is only so much you can do before it tarnishes your heart and soul. You tell yourself this is just another growing pain, and march on stoically doing your best to fight the good fight.
You sense that the bridge may be burning, crumbling under your feet… but nobody tells you why. Who started the fire? Who should have been there to put it out? And what do you do with the pile of ashes that remains?
You wish them love and happiness, because you care. You do your best to show them compassion even though you may cry yourself to sleep at night out of frustration and confusion. You may never know what happened, or they might finally tell you 25 years later.
Forgive them, for they may be elsewhere in life and decided that you are not one to partake in their journeys – and for some reason they are not willing or able to tell you this. Forgive them, for perhaps life has decided that you are only to spend a very limited time in each other’s presence, and although the experiences may have been short-lived, the lessons learned will be with you forever. Forgive them, because maybe they will join your ranks again in the future, and you will welcome them with open arms to share your war stories in renewed awe of each other.
But in the meantime, because of the warmth of the burning embers in your chest, which is the only tangible thing you carry within… you thank them for all those little moments so far, leave the door open in case they wish to return, and then… you let them go.
A Tale of Two Seasons
Tree I
The wind ushered past their mingled bodies – pushing them closer together, further apart; twisting the branches they clung to so delicately. This time, none fell. These were the first winds of autumn, and all but one had chameleoned into a pale gold.
The wind struck again. Three fell silently, landing several meters away, where they dangled for a moment before being swallowed by a hungry bush.
Only one survived. Even through winter.
Spring returned, and while new ones grew, the sole survivor told tales of that devastating autumn.
Then, one day, after the tree had regained its beautiful green overcoat, and all its new occupants were aware of the dangers to come, the one that had survived it all came to its timely end, falling calmly onto a bed of flowers.
Tree II
I guess my feathers are just as delicate as the leaves on that tree. They seem to hold better in strong winds though.
Every morning this past autumn, I watched the tree opposite mine lose its leaves. There was only one diehard.
I went away during winter – a little too cold for my likes in this region this time of year.
When I returned late spring, the tree was a happy shade of green again. Except for the diehard leaf, which had aged. It seemed to have been waiting for something. For what, I wouldn’t know; I’m an owl, not a leaf.
It fell from the tree this morning. Made me a little sad. Makes me wonder when I’ll fall off my tree.
Copyright © 2002 by Karin Pinter
Returning
The candle flickered, gasped, died in the stiff night.
Such things, happening the way they do, send us into a frenzied panic or a paused frenzy. I opted for the latter.
I’d waited long for her return after our sudden parting.
“Mother,” she said.
I smiled at my daughter’s ghost.
Copyright © 2001 by Karin Pinter
