Do Great Loves Ever Die?

This little fluff piece is just to make you think.  You are supposed to wonder if the man is dreaming, awake, or dead.  There might be a religious theme in your mind, or not.  Let me know what you think, what did it mean to you.   Thanks for reading.

He was startled awake from his happy dream by something pushing on his foot. He was lying by a sparkling mountain stream; arms folded behind his head, and they were sound asleep. The mist started to clear from his brain, and he realized that the Y branch sticking in the bank with the long freshly cut pole was desperately trying to alert him that he had a trout on the line. Setting up as quickly as he could, he saw his pole was rapidly bobbing up and down, the end nearly smacking the water. Now fully awake he grabbed the make-shift pole, his hands weren’t as nimble as they used to be, but he excitedly began to work for his breakfast.

The stream was so clear he could see to the bottom, and his trout looked huge pulling hard on the line. His mouth watered as he daydreamed of it roasting over an open flame. He shook the dream away and concentrated on landing this beauty. He remembered little else, but he knew how to play a fish and land it.

Concentrating on landing his breakfast, he knew trout have a soft mouth and could slip the hook if he wasn’t careful. Hand over hand up the pole his hands moved to grasp the line for better control. He spent several minutes letting his beauty have a little line and then gently reeling it back by winding it around his fist. Finally, the prize was within his grasp, reaching down he slid two fingers into the gills and lifted his magnificent breakfast out of the water. He pulled his knife from his jeans pocket and neatly cleaned his prize fish, okay, not as huge as he looked in the water, but surely enough to fill his and Sabine’s belly as soon as he remembered the way to his camp.

He plopped the fish in the creel beside him, and whistling walked to his camp. It appeared that his feet knew the way and they took him to a clearing, fifty careful steps from his fishing hole.

One could tell he loved camping by the neatness of his camp. His tent was erected properly, taunt with correctly placed guidelines, campfire pit lined with small stones and large ones circling them, a solid iron grille set with a big wrought iron frying pan waiting for his meal. Stoking the embers into flame, adding more wood, tossing a generous pat of butter in the pan, he was gratified his prize filled the pan. What a feast this would be, eggs wouldn’t be necessary.

The smell of the fish cooking made his mouth water, his mind clearing, focusing on the love of his life Sabine. “Where was she? Surely she could smell their breakfast cooking.” He couldn’t allow her to be a sleepyhead when such a wonderful feast was waiting. Leaving his cooking after carefully turning his prize fish in the pan, he boosted his aching body up and walked stiffly to the tent, opening the flap to let in some light and laughing he called to her, “Get up you sleepyhead, come out and join me for breakfast.”

Not only did she not answer, but there was also no Sabine. Where could she be? He recalled cuddling in their two-man sleeping bag last night, just like they used to in their youth. Of course, she must have gone exploring or needed an early morning private break. As soon as the smell of his prize breakfast

He was startled awake from his happy dream by something pushing on his foot. He was lying by a sparkling mountain stream; arms folded behind his head, and they were sound asleep. The mist started to clear from his brain, and he realized that the Y branch sticking in the bank with the long freshly cut pole was desperately trying to alert him that he had a trout on the line. Setting up as quickly as he could, he saw his pole was rapidly bobbing up and down, the end nearly smacking the water. Now fully awake he grabbed the make-shift pole, his hands weren’t as nimble as they used to be, but he excitedly began to work for his breakfast.

The stream was so clear he could see to the bottom, and his trout looked huge pulling hard on the line. His mouth watered as he daydreamed of it roasting over an open flame. He shook the dream away and concentrated on landing this beauty. He remembered little else, but he knew how to play a fish and land it.

Concentrating on landing his breakfast, he knew trout have a soft mouth and could slip the hook if he wasn’t careful. Hand over hand up the pole his hands moved to grasp the line for better control. He spent several minutes letting his beauty have a little line and then gently reeling it back by winding it around his fist. Finally, the prize was within his grasp, reaching down he slid two fingers into the gills and lifted his magnificent breakfast out of the water. He pulled his knife from his jeans pocket and neatly cleaned his prize fish, okay, not as huge as he looked in the water, but surely enough to fill his and Sabine’s belly as soon as he remembered the way to his camp.

He plopped the fish in the creel beside him, and whistling walked to his camp. It appeared that his feet knew the way and they took him to a clearing, fifty careful steps from his fishing hole.

One could tell he loved camping by the neatness of his camp. His tent was erected properly, taunt with correctly placed guidelines, campfire pit lined with small stones and large ones circling them, a solid iron grille set with a big wrought iron frying pan waiting for his meal. Stoking the embers into flame, adding more wood, tossing a generous pat of butter in the pan, he was gratified his prize filled the pan. What a feast this would be, eggs wouldn’t be necessary.

The smell of the fish cooking made his mouth water, his mind clearing, focusing on the love of his life Sabine. “Where was she? Surely she could smell their breakfast cooking.” He couldn’t allow her to be a sleepyhead when such a wonderful feast was waiting. Leaving his cooking after carefully turning his prize fish in the pan, he boosted his aching body up and walked stiffly to the tent, opening the flap to let in some light and laughing he called to her, “Get up you sleepyhead, come out and join me for breakfast.”

Not only did she not answer, but there was also no Sabine. Where could she be? He recalled cuddling in their two-man sleeping bag last night, just like they used to in their youth. Of course, she must have gone exploring or needed an early morning private break. As soon as the smell of his prize breakfast reached her nose, she would be over the moon excited and come running back to help him devour the fish. She loved to camp as much as he did and loved eating freshly caught fish, as long as she didn’t have to touch their slimy bodies. He smiled remembering the time she actually caught one, but couldn’t bear to touch it until it came out of the frying pan.

We went back to the fire and made sure that the fish had not burned, but was golden brown and thoroughly cooked. He let his eyes wander over the magnificent view. In the distance, he marveled at the white-capped mountains sparkling in the rising sun. High Pines towered in the distance, but around his clearing, their home away from home much smaller trees made an excellent windbreak, which was exactly why he picked this perfect spot.

Damn, the fish was cooked just right. He called several times and scouted around the camp for several minutes. Sabine must have gone looking for mushrooms or exploring. She was as capable as woods-man as he was, so he was not worried about her getting lost. It wasn’t like Sabine to wander so far away that she would not hear him call. He kept calling, but she was nowhere to be found and didn’t answer his calls.

He wasn’t going to let this breakfast go to waste, so he sat down and dug in. When he filled his belly sufficiently, he still had over half of the fish left. As soon as the fish was wrapped and stored in the cooler, he decided it was time to make a concerted effort to find Sabine. He would have a serious talk with her about not scaring him like this again.

He gathered up his backpack with enough water for both of them, slinging it over his back, taking his hiking pole to steady his old legs, not looking forward to this upcoming trek.

He started walking in the direction that he assumed Sabine had taken when the scenery started to fade. His memory of last night and this morning was receding into a dream-like fugue.

“I’m not ready,” he yelled to no one, “I have to find Sabine.” The voice never told him when it was time. It was never clear what was happening or what he was supposed to do. Voices were booming around him and inside his head. He could hear people talking about pushing, and suddenly he knew that he had no choice in where he was going or when, and it seemed to be NOW. Everything faded out, and he was gone.

On the third page of the daily news the next day, was a small article. “The Bodies of an older couple were found by hikers. Authorities believe they fell and were unable to summon help. They suffered broken bones from the fall and died in each other’s arms”.

“Push again, Mary, she’s almost here. I can see the crown of her head, one more push and we will see Sally’s beautiful face. You can hold her first, but I get to hold her second. Rest and catch your breath.” Mary lay her head back on the pillow and with a sigh, said, “Thanks, coach, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Janie is next door giving birth to her best friend,” Jaimie said holding her hand.

Next door Janie gave her last big push bringing her new baby boy into the world. Frank was delayed at work and would be heartbroken to miss his son’s birth. Janie waited as long as she could, but the labor progressed a lot faster than they anticipated. Finally, Janie held her baby in her arms, unwrapping his blanket to marvel at his beautiful eyes, his tiny hands, and feet. Once she was sure he was all there, she wrapped him up again. She anxiously watched the door, waiting for Justin to meet his father.

And it begins again

 

Published by Time Traveler of Life

Biography Creating worlds, characters, and wielding power like a madwoman, making my characters happy, sad, angry, and some of them with no redeeming qualities. I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I sometimes laugh out loud when I am writing a scene, and I have been known to cry when one of my favorites has to die. I am a left-handed Gemini, what do you expect? Reading bedtime stories to my two children until they fell asleep or until they just told me to go away, was fun. Making up wild stories for my grandchild, and creating Halloween costumes from Cowboys to a Dragon, was another favorite thing to do. I missed that so much when they were grown, that I started writing. My yearly newsletters frequently were drafted third-person by my Love Birds, Miranda our motorhome, and by Sir Fit the White Knight, our faithful Honda. Throughout the years, some of my creative talents centered around writing letters of complaint expressing my displeasure with services or products. One crucial, at least to my Son, was a note to our local school bus driver petitioning her to allow him back on the bus. He was kicked off for making an obscene gesture at his buddy. I reminded her that it was not directed at her, and that “obscenity can be in the eye of the beholder,” kids use that gesture as a greeting. He rode the bus until he graduated. I loved driving my English teacher crazy. Leaving a “continued next week” at the end of my five handwritten pages required each week. He was one of many people that suggested I “do something about my writing.” I graduated from the School of Hard Knocks at the top of my class. After 30 years, in the trenches as a Real Estate Professional, I have found that truth is stranger than fiction. My books are filled with characters I met in that profession. Their names were changed to protect the guilty. Others were from people we met traveling around the country in Miranda, our Motorhome. I am married nearly 60 years to the love of my life, Shirl, and partner-produced two exceptionally talented children, and one grandchild who is our pride and joy.

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