Summer Comes & Goes..
Summer Comes & Goes..
Summer comes and goes. The Sun, with its bright countenance, moves from one end to another, bringing light and hope to the Forest. With every summer, we learn something new—something about this vast, fathomless world of which we have no knowledge, no insight. Every day teaches us something, some lessons that make us grateful, and others that we dare not utter, for they can make even the liveliest face pale.
The summer of the previous year in the Great Forest had been different. It was welcoming and warm. Now it is shallow and sorrowful. Only the cold stays in the endless heat of the hot March days. I walk through the fields, where the barley grows, rustled by the heavy winds; the sound is foreign to my ears.
When Maria was there, I could hear soft, gushing sounds, inquisitive about the couple walking through the fields, wondering and speaking to each other. I remember the songs of the barley, singing of beauty they could not witness in their short lives.
Now, all I hear are fearful howls—laments for the loss of young life. How horrifying it is! I feel fear I have never felt before. Songs of life turned into laments of death. O Lord, how vile it sounds!
The very grains, once soft, have turned hard and coarse, mocking me for my foolishness. The skies grow darker, the clouds covering the abashed Sun. Its light has fled, unable to witness the scene. There was once a time, I could smell the sweet fragrance of daisies and daffodils that blessed the land with her presence. Now, only suffocation. Death is here, mocking me—his bony hands carrying her pale body, following me. I can sense it, but I dare not turn around, lest I go mad.
I walk further and further. Every beloved part of the vast fields has turned into darkness, and hatred grows within my bosom. The flowers, once a comfort, have become a cruel fallacy—the old trees, the golden daffodils, all that once shone brightly, now gone.
I know the reason. The day has been black ever since the girl I loved was no more. She lies in the dark confines of the Earth, angels watching her ascend the great stairs of heaven.
I knew she was never coming back. When the doctors gave their verdict, when the cough and fearful fever overcame her, when weakness held her to the bed, even her false smiles gave me no comfort. She assured me she would live, but I knew she would die. Perhaps it was I who did her wrong. I, who loved her most, believed in her death. I neither prayed nor asked for her life. I simply accepted it.
As I enter the Great Forest, I realise the trees whispered strange murmurs. Their shapes grotesque and morose, they are no longer stately and sage as before. They whisper one phrase: “You killed her.”
I wander deeper, aware of his presence. He follows me. The cold air in the heat, the darkness spreading—it was because of him. Death is present, and in his arms, I can sense her.
Her fragrance still lingers. She always wore the scent of daisies, one that made all the boys in our village love her. But I loved her more than anyone. Yet I was the first to forsake her. Her smell, once alluring, now suffocates me, reminding me of that evening in the forest…
It had been a month since I had last visited the forest. Back then, I collected berries for her among the green shrubbery. The weather had been dark, but there was still belief in the return of light. Birds still sang, cicadas hummed, bees filled their hives, and butterflies danced. Back then, I still believed that summer would return, that spring would not remain dark forever, that she would recover. But that never happened.
After she died, the birds fell silent. Bees no longer filled their honeycombs, cicadas and butterflies ceased their songs. Empty silence filled my ears. Summer had died.
Yet, I wander deeper, penetrating the heart of the forest. The suffocating fume grows stronger, my head spins, but I press on. My legs grow sore, my eyes resisting their duty. I clutch onto the key to her—the memory of the girl with flushed red cheeks, grey eyes, and golden hair.
At last, I reach the stream by whose banks we once played in the green days of youth. Summer then had been fresh and warm, like the flowing stream itself. But now it was muddy, tainted. Death had taken her, and life itself.
He stands behind me, menacing, suffocating, dark as night.
I cannot—cannot—
I turn… and stand face to face with death.
The stately trees once more stand the test of time. The birds are chirping, cicadas and butterflies dance, bees and ants grumble, and the cuckoo mocks the crow. The dove sings a duet with the fowl, and the fragrance of daisies fills the air.
I look to see her standing there—in her white dress, braided and ornamented like the colored stripes of summer. Her golden hair dances in the breeze, shining in the glorious rays of the sun. Her fair skin is pale as snow, faint as the early summer skies.
She smiles—a faint smile, only a shadow of her former self.
And I smile back.
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