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It was cold in the old church. Far ahead of us in the front, the cogan pipes gathered volume and the choir began to sing. First unsure but slowly growing into a beautiful tapestry of sound, tt filled the whole building and my insides. I leaned on to John's shoulder next to me. I could smell his aftershave lotion and I rested my head agaist his shoulder. His hand found myne and folded it over mine. Together with the choir's music, my soul flew out of the windows into the bright summer morning. "Oh for the wings, for the wings of a dove.. Follow me, follow me." And at last the church service was out and we walked back home through the park. We had some tea at the little coffee shop in the park and spend the morning between flowerbeds discussing the shades and fragrances of the flowers.

That was our last day out, together, that summer.

The weather turned into Autumn overnight and before the last leaves could fall, we found ourselves trapped in winter. A cold and gruesome tide that destroyed all the colour and the butterflies in the park, and the sun in my heart.

Out little house became a refuge against the onslaught of the brutal season. He would always be home when I returned from work. A strong, soft spoken man, with a pearly smile could warm your heart. The kitchen that smells of coffee and cinnamon, the yellow light that shone through the curtains and the big feather bed that was a haven, an I vory tower of our love and passion.

Today I went out to pick the first Spring flowers. I walked down the small paths while the sun threw long shadows off the little granite gables. Somewhere from the corner of my eye, I saw a group of mourners carry their dead and the pink Rose that clumsily held onto a run down fence.

I was startled to reality when the caretakes spoke a small distance from me: "I am closing the gates in 15 minutes." I walked back in the direction of the gate and felt the Spring breathing and celebrating around me, just not in me. Can it really be Spring, not for me, perhaps next year? How could he go away like that? How could he leave the flowers in the back yard and just go away, without a word. How can someone go to sleep with all the plans for a life with me and newer wake up again? I walked through the big gates of the cemetary and heard the gatekeeper pushing the schrieking gates closed. I turned around to look at him. He looked up and said: "Goodnight to you, Sir."

Learn more about this author, Winston Thorpe.
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