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Afternoon Lake

All around me stretched the hundred miles of water rippling over the smooth stones of the river bed. And beyond stood the faraway snow-capped mountains of the North cradling the waning sun to sleep, slowly and softly. The hundreds of rustling leaves red and gold swirled in the cool air and fell quietly on the surface of the water, like love floating when all else sank. I dipped my toe into the the river and welcomed the cool cleanse that came from the elixir of nature and soaked in the final moments when the sun would still shine weakly. And though the world was still, everything was moving. A squirrel scuttled meekly to my side raising its tail and peering into me through its black eyes, content with my passivity. And I was content with his. We shared something in those hours, sitting side by side watching the sky turn a brilliant shade of red and then deep purple and finally pitch black. All the while the water never stopped running and the leaves never stopped falling and the squirrel never stopped being. But, like all things in this universe, he picked himself up after some time and left forever. And I couldn’t help but to feel all the more heartbroken.

I don’t know what it was, but my tired and blank mind could not shake away the idea of an ephemeral relationship between all creatures of Earth. After all, there is no such thing as infinity, and I disliked that. Things come and go, leaves turn green then red, people transform, squirrels scamper away to never recall you again. So as I watched the first diamonds showcase their brilliance against the dark mine of nighttime, there was nothing left to do but accept the transience that is our world and say goodbye to the squirrels, only to welcome the birds. 

The rain rolled off the autumn leaves and dripped onto the puddles of the concrete sidewalk below. The street lamps shone brightly through the crystal droplets, spilling an array of different blurred colors against the gray and violet backdrop of a rainy twilight evening. And nothing but the rhythmic sound of my rain boots coupled with the crinkling of his raincoat resounded through the chilly September wind, as we strolled through an unknown park in an unknown city, with an unknown mission in mind. But we weren’t purposeless, for we were creating a memory, and together, under the single umbrella he supported with right hand and my fingers softly entwined in his left, we continued on through the deepening sunset in complete silence, save for the twinkling of a few droplets of crystal that fell from the heavens. 

What a beautiful evening to spend it with the person who would gladly sip tea with you in the middle of the afternoon and sit with you on the fire escape to watch the sun rise. What a beautiful evening to be out with the one who loved you more than life itself, the one who built a kingdom with the bricks of your soul and rooted you to the very ground of your beliefs. What a beautiful evening to be. A memory never again to be recreated from the ashes of tomorrow’s burning sun, never again to be recreated period. After all, a memory is a stamp you collect from the past, only to stick on a letter you send to the future. 

With our heads bent low against the increasing drumming of the rain, we strolled past another lamp, another tree. Beautiful night; beautiful silence. The most priceless stamp of all.