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He reached out and traced a finger across the cheek of the face in the picture frame. It left a smudge across the glass where his involuntary action had removed the dust. Lost in thought, he picked the frame up and carelessly wiped it on the sleeve of his shirt before placing face down back on the table.

The sunlight was blazing outside and although he had the curtains pulled tight, colorful rays of sunlight found their way into the room and bounced off of the walls and well worn hardwood floors.

It was the sunset of his life and he found that he no longer had the energy to keep the house in the spotless condition it had always been in when his beautiful Sarah had been alive. The sound of the clock echoed quietly in the room reminding him that the minutes were indeed passing and he would sit for hours every day just counting the seconds as they ticked away.

Dust danced like fairies, trapped in the beams of sunlight, and he would watch as the particles slowly settled onto the table in front of him. The magazines he stared at were years old now and most of the covers had faded into a pale cream color.

He didn't live as a man should, he simply existed. He ate only when he was hungry and slept for only a few hours here and there. He was as well acquainted with 3 am as he was with 3 pm. He felt no sense of urgency to accomplish anything more in his life and often he wondered why he had lived so long.

If he concentrated hard enough he was able to summon the ghosts of the past and he could see the room as it use to be. The curtains were never closed back then and sunlight spilled into the room unbidden. Everything shone with a freshness that showed pride of ownership, not to mention the obvious care his wife had given each possession they owned. He saw his son was laying on the sofa, a can of pop near by, munching on a bag of potato chips as he laughed his way through one of his favorite programs. His beloved Sarah, drawn by the laughter would appear in the doorway, her pretty face lit up with a smile as she inquired of their son what was so funny. He saw himself sitting in his comfortable chair, feet up on the edge of the coffee table, newspaper in hand, absorbed in the daily news of life.

How quickly it had all happened. He felt as if his life had moved at break neck speed and the eighty two years he had survived felt no longer than the last hour that has passed. He remembered the garden outside and how he had ridiculed the little tree they had planted, suggesting that it looked more like a twig stuck in the mud. Today its branches stretched high and cast a shadow across the lawn. The neighbors complained that it was dropping too many leaves in their yards in the fall and perhaps he should have it cut down.

His hand reached out to once again pick up the picture he had set back on the table. A tear escaped, running down his face as he looked at the picture of his beautiful little family and he remembered how full his life had been. He mouthed a quiet prayer of thanks to God for allowing him to live such a wonderful life, but he wished now for it to be over.

He closed his eyes, suddenly very weary. A tiny ping of pain radiated through his chest and suddenly he felt as if he were floating. As he tried to grab hold of something to steady himself, he heard her voice calling to him and he realized that his wish was to come true. "Remembering the beauty has brought you to me", was all she said.

With a smile of love she reached for his hand and lead him down the hall of memories, past each moment in his life and back into the light. Finally they would be together again.

Learn more about this author, I. S. Turner.
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