View Full Version : A Quiet Saturday Afternoon

04-04-2004, 03:33:54
The cool breath of the breeze beckoned that the evening would be crisp and pleasant. It was the kind of wind that normally came at the end of autumn, but in this month of April it merely served as a warning for the heat that would come. While pleasant it angered young Henry whose bare feet cringed against the chilled, dusty pavement.

“Your mother called,” Henry’s wife touted from the doorway not far from where Henry paced.

“Aye,” Henry stammered, caring not of the words he heard. His mind focused on the changing sky; the purples, the blues, and the whites that mingled in an image not imagined by any artist that he could remember.

“Are you going to call her back?” His wife asked of him.

“Aye,” he nodded as a hummingbird flitted mere inches from his face without his recognition.

“Well?” She prodded.


“Well, she wants you to call her back,” she spoke with a slow remorse, “She said it was important.”

“I will, I will,” Henry spoke and then whispered to himself.

“What’s wrong,” she asked escaping from the cave of a house and into the cool, crisp air.

“Nothing,” Henry spoke, “nothing.”

“You seem odd.”

”I’m just content.”

“O.k., but you’re acting strange.”

”Yeah, well, that happens from time to time.”

“It’s getting cold,” the wife spoke to the dog, which roamed about the yard, hugging at her knitted sweater that had recently hung loosely around her bare neck. “You should put some socks on, Henry, before you catch your death.”

“It was a warm day,” Henry replied.

“It was,” she replied heading back indoors with the dog close at her heals.

Signs of the change had begun. She had not realized it, but Henry, whose heart had skipped earlier that day, had noticed the change in the season, the weather, and the sign…

It was near to come.