Monday, March 15, 2010
Saturday, February 9, 2008
I dream (poem)
I dream
I dream I am
an errant breeze
flowing cool and smooth
across a sun drenched meadow
I dream I am
a butterfly
on delicate wings I ride the zephyr
aspiring for the sun
I dream I am
sunshine kisses
on upturned faces
warmth and light
I dream I am
I dream
I dream I am
an errant breeze
flowing cool and smooth
across a sun drenched meadow
I dream I am
a butterfly
on delicate wings I ride the zephyr
aspiring for the sun
I dream I am
sunshine kisses
on upturned faces
warmth and light
I dream I am
I dream
Copyright, Dean Wilson, 2007
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Gone (poem)
Gone
Grandfathers chair - vacant;
he sits on a shelf
in a rimu box
lid closed
not talking much
Grandfathers chair - vacant;
he sits on a shelf
in a rimu box
lid closed
not talking much
Copyright, Dean Wilson, 2007
LoVe (poem)
LoVe
tender moments
of love tortured souls
entwined with silken strings
barbed and tight
tender moments
of love tortured souls
entwined with silken strings
barbed and tight
Copyright, Dean Wilson, 2007
Lonesome together (poem)
Lonesome together
Bleed with me my love
all consuming but empowering
comfort to a battered heart
a grief shared is halved
Lie with me my love
passion enabled fusion
heart / body / soul
together but
.... alone....
Bleed with me my love
all consuming but empowering
comfort to a battered heart
a grief shared is halved
Lie with me my love
passion enabled fusion
heart / body / soul
together but
.... alone....
Copyright, Dean Wilson, 2007
Widow (poem)
Widow
She walks with unsteady legs
the passage of time having overtaken her
golden memories her sole companion
themselves somewhat tarnished
her soul now sundered and bare
to the chill wind of loneliness
She remembers and knows
a peace tainted by loss
as she waits to unite
with what she has lost
the passage of time having overtaken her
golden memories her sole companion
themselves somewhat tarnished
her soul now sundered and bare
to the chill wind of loneliness
She remembers and knows
a peace tainted by loss
as she waits to unite
with what she has lost
Copyright, Dean Wilson, 2007
Harry & Charlie (short story)
HARRY & CHARLIE
by Dean Wilson
Charlotte Mary Davidson
passed away peacefully
during her sleep on 14th
April. Beloved wife of the
late Harold and mother of
Herbert, John and Jane.
Doting Nana of Harry,
James, Rosie, Blyth and
Petra. Great grandmother of
Gwyneth and Chelsey.
You will be sorely missed.
The funeral service will be
held at 142 Palm Grove,
Tues 19th April at 2.30pm.
All correspondence to be
sent to J & J Sloane Funeral
Directors P.O. Box 4216,
Central City.
Harriet Jane McPherson sat at her kitchen table, the daily newspaper clutched in numb hands, breakfast cold and forgotten before her. The task of filtering familiar names from the newsprint to further diminish her near extinct circle of friends had turned up unpleasant and totally unexpected news.
'Oh little sister, why did you have to go and do that for?.' Harriet shook her head, her eyes glued to the obituary as memories flooded her. Frosty mornings, milking with Mum, little Charlotte tagging along behind. Swimming in the creek with her school friends and telling Charlotte to go home and leave them alone. Charlotte stealing her wonderful doll Anabel and cutting her beautiful golden hair. Filching apples from the Brankovich's orchard and Charlotte telling tales, Mum taking to her backside with her calloused hand. Innumerable moments filed past in a mesmerising sideshow. Things buried for years came once more into the spotlight and captured her attention.
Minutes later, the persistent ring of the telephone broke the spell Harriet found herself under and on unsteady legs she rose to answer it.
'Hello?' Harriet remained somewhat distracted, the thoughts kept under wraps for so long unwilling to fade. Baking shortbread with Mum, Charlotte too young to help with anything but licking the remaining mixture off the wooden spoon.
'Hi Mum, how are you this morning?' Her daughter Mary's solicitous tone tipped her hand immediately. Charlotte's devotion to her dog Pip and her heartbreak at its death.
'It's alright dear, I've seen it in the paper. No need to pussyfoot around.' Harriet's business like voice betrayed no emotion, yet Mary continued as if dealing with an emotional wreck. The Saturday matinee at the town theater, their excitement at seeing the latest western.
'Oh Mum I'm so sorry.I've just been on the phone to cousin Herb, he says she passed quickly - a heart attack - just like that...' Charlotte would always cheer quietly as the Indians rode around the circled wagons.
'Yes, yes, no need to go into all the details, I've been accustomed to people dying around me for quite some time.' Pausing for a moment to let the words sink in, Harriet resumed, the distracting images finally coming to a halt.
'Now dear, we better send some flowers to Herbert and the family, let them know that we are thinking of them. Will you arrange that dear?'
'Of course Mum, I'll send a nice card as well with all our names in it.'
'Never mind about that, I have one here that will do.'
'Oh Mum, I'd like us to send a nice card, not one of those bland packet ones.' Harriet could imagine Mary at the other end of the line, twisting the phone cord in frustration.
'There's nothing wrong with these cards, I still have some left over from the last pack and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. But if you insist, I'll pick one up from the stationers this morning when I do my shopping.'
'Ok Mum, I think that would be best. Are you sure you're all right?' The concern in her daughter's voice was touching and Harriet softened.
'Yes my dear, it's a bit of a shock but we have hardly spoken to each other since we fell out after your Grandmother passed away, some twenty odd years ago. I did my grieving for a lost sister then.' The words sounded hollow to Harriet's ears and the sigh that had reached her confirmed it had not escaped Mary either.
After this, they both tried to bring the conversation back to more solid ground. How was Geoff? Still playing bowls? Any chance of more Great-Grandchildren in the near future? Still going to the Country Womens Institute? Their natter continued for the next ten or so minutes before the subject of the funeral was broached and both agreed upon arrangements to attend.
When Harriet hung up the phone, she felt drained but resilient as always, prepared to face the day.
Tuesday was welcomed in with a fine spring day, its only fault as far as Harriet was concerned was the chill wind that blew in off the plains. By one o'clock, Harriet was at the gate waiting, the wind cutting through her funeral finery and scoring her aged body as she waited impatiently for Mary to arrive. Always the stickler for punctuality, Harriet had insisted her daughter be there to pick her up by a quarter past one at the very latest to allow them plenty of time to make the journey across town. It was several minutes before the quiet rural road saw any traffic, the car in question remaining indistinct until it was passing the Henderson's place two doors down. At this point, it resolved itself into her son in-law's big maroon station wagon and moments later it pulled to a stop in front of her gate, Mary at the wheel. Harriet cast a quick glance at her watch and was quietly pleased to see it was only ten minutes past one.
The passenger window rolled down and her daughter leaned across the passenger seat.
'Mum, you didn't have to wait outside in the wind. I would have come in and got you.'
'It's all right dear, it's a lovely day and there was no point being stuck inside.'
Harriet crossed the grass verge and climbed gingerly into the vehicle, her bad hip troubling her after being subject to the cool wind. The window closing at a touch of Mary's finger and as soon as Harriet was settled, the car pulled back out into the road.
Harriet wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of her son in-law's cigarette smoke and settled in for the journey. With the prospect of a long drive ahead of them, Harriet found her thoughts once again drifting across the years, in a dream of innocence and promise.
'Mum, can I ask you something?' Mary turned the car around and began the run back to town.
'What do you want to know dear?' Distracted by memories she would rather not be dealing with her guard slipped.
'What happened after Nana died to cause the bad blood between you and Auntie Charlotte?' The question sliced the bonds that had been holding the memory of that dark time in check. Torn between the honesty that her daughter deserved and the desire to suppress the negative thoughts that were already coming to mind, Harriet sighed and fidgeted briefly with the handbag in her lap.
'Charlie and I were never very close, but when Mum died, things happened which neither one of us could forgive nor forget.' Sadness accompanied this statement but also a sense of relief that the burden of a secret held for twenty-three years was about to be shared.
'Charlie and I were born four years apart, our elder brothers Tom and George already in their teens and on the verge of leaving home by the time I was old enough to walk, let alone Charlie who would have been just a tot. With Dad gone, Mum did her best to support us and worked all around the district; doing laundry, mending clothes, picking the fruit for the Brankovich's and others. This left me to take care of Charlie. Until she was old enough to look after herself, I would walk with her to school and home again, keep her amused until Mum came home, quite often having to fix us both dinner as well. When she was about seven, I was able to leave her to her own devices and slip off and play with friends but often she would follow and become a nuisance. This seemed to be the pattern until I met your father and eventually married him and moved away.
During the years leading up to Mum's death, Charlie and I became a bit closer but with her marriage to Harold and them moving down country things became difficult.
Oh, we saw them occasionally if they came up to the City, I'm sure you remember playing with Herbert and John when you were just a wee thing, but Charlie and I never really got that close again.'
Harriet watched with a detached interest as the sparse countryside gave way to the sprawl of the outlying suburbs, her tale eliciting only a rare nod or murmur of assent from Mary.
'With Tom dying over at Normandy in nineteen-fourty-four and George settling in Australia at the end of the war, I was the only one left to take care of Mum when she became ill. Charlie was never to be seen until it was too late and we had to clear up Mum's things, then she was there, poking her nose into everything.
I knew she was taking things willy-nilly and to be honest I didn't mind. But when Mum's locket went I couldn't hold myself back. We had it out, she denied it till she was blue in the face, but I was sure she had it. She knew it was all I wanted and she took it out of spite.' The resentment she held locked tight for years spilled out, leaving Harriet feeling as though there was a burning coal in her breast. Seeing her mother distressed, Mary attempted to sooth the ill.
'It's all water under the bridge now Mum. Maybe the locket was just lost somewhere?' The thoughtful words failed to hit the mark.
'No, I am sure she took it; and after saying the things we said to each other that day, well neither of us could ever forgive the other.'
'Then why come to the funeral if you feel that way?'
Harriet turned to regard her daughter, a look of disappointment on her aged worn face.
'I can forget our troubles for today, if only to be here for the family - for those that have already passed and those left behind.' The rest of the trip was completed in relative silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts.
Mary guided the station-wagon into a vacant space, the digital readout on the dashboard reading two o'clock on the dot. This early, the funeral home's car park was almost empty, so the pair sat a moment in companionable silence. One's thoughts very much on the future, the other with hers firmly in the past. Harriet moved first, the stale cigarette smell rather more unpleasant than the prospect of being alone inside the funeral parlor.
'Come on dear, we may as well head in.' Without waiting for a reply, Harriet was out of the car and walking stiffly on arthritic legs towards the nondescript white building, it's polished timber doors open, awaiting the influx of mourners.
The interior of the chapel was devoid of life, no one yet sat on the hardwood pews nor stood behind the podium. A wreath of lilies adorned the top of the closed foot end of the casket, the top end open for mourners to pay thir last respects. Curiosity flickered in Harriet's mind as she wondered what almost two and a half decades had wrought on Charlotte's features. With this interest piqued, the sole surviving child of Elizabeth and Ernest Kendrick set off to see her sister for a final time.
Harriet walked slowly down the red carpeted aisle to the front of the chapel, Mary hanging back anxiously, reluctant to enter the tranquil interior of the chapel without official sanction.
'Mum, we should wait for the rest.' Mary coached her voice in a stage whisper, but her mother would not be stopped.
'Don't worry dear, you feel free to wait out there. I need to see my sister.'
Stopping before she was able to see far enough inside the plushly lined interior of the coffin to view the body, Harriet drew several deep breaths, new found unease holding her in check. Moments passed and her daughter's concerned voice rang out, across the room.
'Mum, are you all right?' Concerned as she was she had only managed to take a couple of steps into the forbidding interior before coming to a halt herself.
Turning from the casket, Harriet saw the concern on her daughters face and gave her a weak smile.
'I'm fine, just preparing myself.'
'You don't have to Mum. She's gone, what's left is just an empty shell.'
'I know. I just have to see her again.' With that the older woman turned and stepped up to the edge and gazed within.
Feeling more emotions than she had expected, Harriet found herself looking upon the face of a virtual stranger. The last time she had seen Charlotte, the younger woman's hair was more black than grey. Now black had been vanquished, the new battle between grey and white had been fought to a standstill. Once smooth skin was now marred by wrinkles and slackened in death almost all resemblance to the girl that populated her best memories was gone.
Having seen all she wished to see, Harriet was about to turn away when her eyes fell to the oval locket, resting on her sister's chest. A spark of anger flared but was quickly doused by a feeling of hurt as confirmation of Charlotte's dishonesty hit home. Harriet shook her head in disapproval as she thought on the wrong committed against her. After all these years, she now had proof beyond a doubt that she had been lied to; betrayed by her own sister. The truth was a bitter pill to take and Harriet felt an intense sadness at the taint that now colored her memories.
'Why Charlotte? Why?' Harriet's plaintive questioning went unanswered and the locket called to her with a voice that would not be ignored.
With an unsteady hand, Harriet lifted the golden locket from Charlotte's breast and rubbed her thumb over the cool surface, tracing the intricate engraving across its face. Harriet had never dared to think she would again hold this treasure and it felt in some way as if she had reclaimed a moment of her lost youth. The pictures in the locket had been imprinted in her memory, many childhood moments spent in fascinated contemplation.
She split the locket open, her attention as always, first going to the photograph of her mother on the left hand side. The photograph served as a reminder of better days, her Mother's firm gaze locked with Harriet's in a moments silent communion. Moving her right thumb failed to reveal the expected. Gone was the image of their long dead father. In its place she found herself looking upon her own face separated by the space of more than half a century, unlined and carefree, beside her a smiling cherub, Charlie in full bloom of youth. Twin cowboy hats sat atop their heads, they were as Mum affectionately called them; 'Harry and Charlie, cowgirls on the range.'
All the feelings of moments before dissolved under the stare of the two children, long forgotten and a profound sadness unfurled itself in her breast, tears springing from her eyes and Harriet let go.
by Dean Wilson
Charlotte Mary Davidson
passed away peacefully
during her sleep on 14th
April. Beloved wife of the
late Harold and mother of
Herbert, John and Jane.
Doting Nana of Harry,
James, Rosie, Blyth and
Petra. Great grandmother of
Gwyneth and Chelsey.
You will be sorely missed.
The funeral service will be
held at 142 Palm Grove,
Tues 19th April at 2.30pm.
All correspondence to be
sent to J & J Sloane Funeral
Directors P.O. Box 4216,
Central City.
Harriet Jane McPherson sat at her kitchen table, the daily newspaper clutched in numb hands, breakfast cold and forgotten before her. The task of filtering familiar names from the newsprint to further diminish her near extinct circle of friends had turned up unpleasant and totally unexpected news.
'Oh little sister, why did you have to go and do that for?.' Harriet shook her head, her eyes glued to the obituary as memories flooded her. Frosty mornings, milking with Mum, little Charlotte tagging along behind. Swimming in the creek with her school friends and telling Charlotte to go home and leave them alone. Charlotte stealing her wonderful doll Anabel and cutting her beautiful golden hair. Filching apples from the Brankovich's orchard and Charlotte telling tales, Mum taking to her backside with her calloused hand. Innumerable moments filed past in a mesmerising sideshow. Things buried for years came once more into the spotlight and captured her attention.
Minutes later, the persistent ring of the telephone broke the spell Harriet found herself under and on unsteady legs she rose to answer it.
'Hello?' Harriet remained somewhat distracted, the thoughts kept under wraps for so long unwilling to fade. Baking shortbread with Mum, Charlotte too young to help with anything but licking the remaining mixture off the wooden spoon.
'Hi Mum, how are you this morning?' Her daughter Mary's solicitous tone tipped her hand immediately. Charlotte's devotion to her dog Pip and her heartbreak at its death.
'It's alright dear, I've seen it in the paper. No need to pussyfoot around.' Harriet's business like voice betrayed no emotion, yet Mary continued as if dealing with an emotional wreck. The Saturday matinee at the town theater, their excitement at seeing the latest western.
'Oh Mum I'm so sorry.I've just been on the phone to cousin Herb, he says she passed quickly - a heart attack - just like that...' Charlotte would always cheer quietly as the Indians rode around the circled wagons.
'Yes, yes, no need to go into all the details, I've been accustomed to people dying around me for quite some time.' Pausing for a moment to let the words sink in, Harriet resumed, the distracting images finally coming to a halt.
'Now dear, we better send some flowers to Herbert and the family, let them know that we are thinking of them. Will you arrange that dear?'
'Of course Mum, I'll send a nice card as well with all our names in it.'
'Never mind about that, I have one here that will do.'
'Oh Mum, I'd like us to send a nice card, not one of those bland packet ones.' Harriet could imagine Mary at the other end of the line, twisting the phone cord in frustration.
'There's nothing wrong with these cards, I still have some left over from the last pack and it would be a shame to let them go to waste. But if you insist, I'll pick one up from the stationers this morning when I do my shopping.'
'Ok Mum, I think that would be best. Are you sure you're all right?' The concern in her daughter's voice was touching and Harriet softened.
'Yes my dear, it's a bit of a shock but we have hardly spoken to each other since we fell out after your Grandmother passed away, some twenty odd years ago. I did my grieving for a lost sister then.' The words sounded hollow to Harriet's ears and the sigh that had reached her confirmed it had not escaped Mary either.
After this, they both tried to bring the conversation back to more solid ground. How was Geoff? Still playing bowls? Any chance of more Great-Grandchildren in the near future? Still going to the Country Womens Institute? Their natter continued for the next ten or so minutes before the subject of the funeral was broached and both agreed upon arrangements to attend.
When Harriet hung up the phone, she felt drained but resilient as always, prepared to face the day.
Tuesday was welcomed in with a fine spring day, its only fault as far as Harriet was concerned was the chill wind that blew in off the plains. By one o'clock, Harriet was at the gate waiting, the wind cutting through her funeral finery and scoring her aged body as she waited impatiently for Mary to arrive. Always the stickler for punctuality, Harriet had insisted her daughter be there to pick her up by a quarter past one at the very latest to allow them plenty of time to make the journey across town. It was several minutes before the quiet rural road saw any traffic, the car in question remaining indistinct until it was passing the Henderson's place two doors down. At this point, it resolved itself into her son in-law's big maroon station wagon and moments later it pulled to a stop in front of her gate, Mary at the wheel. Harriet cast a quick glance at her watch and was quietly pleased to see it was only ten minutes past one.
The passenger window rolled down and her daughter leaned across the passenger seat.
'Mum, you didn't have to wait outside in the wind. I would have come in and got you.'
'It's all right dear, it's a lovely day and there was no point being stuck inside.'
Harriet crossed the grass verge and climbed gingerly into the vehicle, her bad hip troubling her after being subject to the cool wind. The window closing at a touch of Mary's finger and as soon as Harriet was settled, the car pulled back out into the road.
Harriet wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of her son in-law's cigarette smoke and settled in for the journey. With the prospect of a long drive ahead of them, Harriet found her thoughts once again drifting across the years, in a dream of innocence and promise.
'Mum, can I ask you something?' Mary turned the car around and began the run back to town.
'What do you want to know dear?' Distracted by memories she would rather not be dealing with her guard slipped.
'What happened after Nana died to cause the bad blood between you and Auntie Charlotte?' The question sliced the bonds that had been holding the memory of that dark time in check. Torn between the honesty that her daughter deserved and the desire to suppress the negative thoughts that were already coming to mind, Harriet sighed and fidgeted briefly with the handbag in her lap.
'Charlie and I were never very close, but when Mum died, things happened which neither one of us could forgive nor forget.' Sadness accompanied this statement but also a sense of relief that the burden of a secret held for twenty-three years was about to be shared.
'Charlie and I were born four years apart, our elder brothers Tom and George already in their teens and on the verge of leaving home by the time I was old enough to walk, let alone Charlie who would have been just a tot. With Dad gone, Mum did her best to support us and worked all around the district; doing laundry, mending clothes, picking the fruit for the Brankovich's and others. This left me to take care of Charlie. Until she was old enough to look after herself, I would walk with her to school and home again, keep her amused until Mum came home, quite often having to fix us both dinner as well. When she was about seven, I was able to leave her to her own devices and slip off and play with friends but often she would follow and become a nuisance. This seemed to be the pattern until I met your father and eventually married him and moved away.
During the years leading up to Mum's death, Charlie and I became a bit closer but with her marriage to Harold and them moving down country things became difficult.
Oh, we saw them occasionally if they came up to the City, I'm sure you remember playing with Herbert and John when you were just a wee thing, but Charlie and I never really got that close again.'
Harriet watched with a detached interest as the sparse countryside gave way to the sprawl of the outlying suburbs, her tale eliciting only a rare nod or murmur of assent from Mary.
'With Tom dying over at Normandy in nineteen-fourty-four and George settling in Australia at the end of the war, I was the only one left to take care of Mum when she became ill. Charlie was never to be seen until it was too late and we had to clear up Mum's things, then she was there, poking her nose into everything.
I knew she was taking things willy-nilly and to be honest I didn't mind. But when Mum's locket went I couldn't hold myself back. We had it out, she denied it till she was blue in the face, but I was sure she had it. She knew it was all I wanted and she took it out of spite.' The resentment she held locked tight for years spilled out, leaving Harriet feeling as though there was a burning coal in her breast. Seeing her mother distressed, Mary attempted to sooth the ill.
'It's all water under the bridge now Mum. Maybe the locket was just lost somewhere?' The thoughtful words failed to hit the mark.
'No, I am sure she took it; and after saying the things we said to each other that day, well neither of us could ever forgive the other.'
'Then why come to the funeral if you feel that way?'
Harriet turned to regard her daughter, a look of disappointment on her aged worn face.
'I can forget our troubles for today, if only to be here for the family - for those that have already passed and those left behind.' The rest of the trip was completed in relative silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts.
Mary guided the station-wagon into a vacant space, the digital readout on the dashboard reading two o'clock on the dot. This early, the funeral home's car park was almost empty, so the pair sat a moment in companionable silence. One's thoughts very much on the future, the other with hers firmly in the past. Harriet moved first, the stale cigarette smell rather more unpleasant than the prospect of being alone inside the funeral parlor.
'Come on dear, we may as well head in.' Without waiting for a reply, Harriet was out of the car and walking stiffly on arthritic legs towards the nondescript white building, it's polished timber doors open, awaiting the influx of mourners.
The interior of the chapel was devoid of life, no one yet sat on the hardwood pews nor stood behind the podium. A wreath of lilies adorned the top of the closed foot end of the casket, the top end open for mourners to pay thir last respects. Curiosity flickered in Harriet's mind as she wondered what almost two and a half decades had wrought on Charlotte's features. With this interest piqued, the sole surviving child of Elizabeth and Ernest Kendrick set off to see her sister for a final time.
Harriet walked slowly down the red carpeted aisle to the front of the chapel, Mary hanging back anxiously, reluctant to enter the tranquil interior of the chapel without official sanction.
'Mum, we should wait for the rest.' Mary coached her voice in a stage whisper, but her mother would not be stopped.
'Don't worry dear, you feel free to wait out there. I need to see my sister.'
Stopping before she was able to see far enough inside the plushly lined interior of the coffin to view the body, Harriet drew several deep breaths, new found unease holding her in check. Moments passed and her daughter's concerned voice rang out, across the room.
'Mum, are you all right?' Concerned as she was she had only managed to take a couple of steps into the forbidding interior before coming to a halt herself.
Turning from the casket, Harriet saw the concern on her daughters face and gave her a weak smile.
'I'm fine, just preparing myself.'
'You don't have to Mum. She's gone, what's left is just an empty shell.'
'I know. I just have to see her again.' With that the older woman turned and stepped up to the edge and gazed within.
Feeling more emotions than she had expected, Harriet found herself looking upon the face of a virtual stranger. The last time she had seen Charlotte, the younger woman's hair was more black than grey. Now black had been vanquished, the new battle between grey and white had been fought to a standstill. Once smooth skin was now marred by wrinkles and slackened in death almost all resemblance to the girl that populated her best memories was gone.
Having seen all she wished to see, Harriet was about to turn away when her eyes fell to the oval locket, resting on her sister's chest. A spark of anger flared but was quickly doused by a feeling of hurt as confirmation of Charlotte's dishonesty hit home. Harriet shook her head in disapproval as she thought on the wrong committed against her. After all these years, she now had proof beyond a doubt that she had been lied to; betrayed by her own sister. The truth was a bitter pill to take and Harriet felt an intense sadness at the taint that now colored her memories.
'Why Charlotte? Why?' Harriet's plaintive questioning went unanswered and the locket called to her with a voice that would not be ignored.
With an unsteady hand, Harriet lifted the golden locket from Charlotte's breast and rubbed her thumb over the cool surface, tracing the intricate engraving across its face. Harriet had never dared to think she would again hold this treasure and it felt in some way as if she had reclaimed a moment of her lost youth. The pictures in the locket had been imprinted in her memory, many childhood moments spent in fascinated contemplation.
She split the locket open, her attention as always, first going to the photograph of her mother on the left hand side. The photograph served as a reminder of better days, her Mother's firm gaze locked with Harriet's in a moments silent communion. Moving her right thumb failed to reveal the expected. Gone was the image of their long dead father. In its place she found herself looking upon her own face separated by the space of more than half a century, unlined and carefree, beside her a smiling cherub, Charlie in full bloom of youth. Twin cowboy hats sat atop their heads, they were as Mum affectionately called them; 'Harry and Charlie, cowgirls on the range.'
All the feelings of moments before dissolved under the stare of the two children, long forgotten and a profound sadness unfurled itself in her breast, tears springing from her eyes and Harriet let go.
Copyright, Dean Wilson, September 2007
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