Autumn-Monologue

Autumn


It's autumn now. I used to hate it, watching the leaves turn brown, die, flutter off on the wind. But you taught me that autumn wasn't a time of death, it was a time of preparing for new life, of creating the foundation for future generations. I can remember our long evenings in the old cabin, the windows wide open, as we lay in front of the fire, letting the wind and each others hands caress our bodies. I came to love autumn and the feelings and smells and joy.

And I can still smell the sweet rosemary and savory thyme that hung from the rafters. You used those every Sunday, in your stuffing, and in the potatoes. You'd invite the whole town; we'd set up tables in the cozy barn. And nobody complained when the menu catered to my more vegetarian tastes. Occasionally we'd play games with the children, or start them and stray back to the adults. I can still remember the debates you got into with Father Perry. And when little Kaely and I fell ill with a bad flu, how Father Perry brought her here to get better. His daughter loved us; she still loves the carved wolf figurine you made her and the wolf plush you got her for her birthday.  

The plaque you carved for a backdrop to my desk still stands. It's intricately knotted pentagram still stands upright, and I still polish each engraved symbol and rune and bump and knot with care. Our furniture is still where it stands, your kitchen barely touched, except for when I go to make tea. I can still see the dent in the wall from our first night here, when the power was still off. I still can't believe you thought it was someone trying to break in.

The memory makes me laugh. Is it wrong to laugh though? You've been gone for a month now. But I do remember you saying to Father Perry how much you'd hate it if people only mourned for you. Didn't you want to be celebrated-to be remembered as a man who was always smiling? We still hold Sunday Dinner in our barn, and I'm beginning to feel alive again. We're missing your sweet chicken and your corn bread and biscuit stuffing, and people have urged me to open the box you left me if you were ever given active duty. I will, eventually-once I can look at it and not start crying.

That's getting easier now, though I don't know if I'll ever be able to wake up without shedding tears. Even if I were to find another husband, I don't think I could ever wake up without seeing you smiling down at me. I loved you so much. I still love you, even though you're gone. The flag Colonel Isaiha gave me hangs in its case above the mantle, underneath the portrait of you he commissioned. Looking at it makes me smile. I think it was intended to, considering the fact that you're sitting on a rock with that goofy grin that appears in almost every photo I have of you. You're even holding your walking stick like it were some mages staff. You still look angelic, though.

I wonder if you're happy up there, though. Is it all it's cracked up to be? Are you even there? Did you get reincarnated into an elk, or an owl, or a wolf? Will you be waiting for me when I make that journey? I have all these questions for you, but no answers. Why did you try and keep that city kid from jumping? Didn't you see he had a gun? Why did you still keep going, even though you'd been shot?

I can probably answer most of those on my own. You did what you did because you couldn't let someone else risk their life. Out of all the people I know, you were the one who knew the value of life best. I miss you a lot, and your philosophy, and how eager you were to share your wonderful life with me, from the obscure holidays of the Wiccan calendar I've never heard of, let alone been able to pronounce. I still celebrate them, though. Occasionally Father Perry will come by, too, when Kaely is in school. He'll sit with me and watch the fire, or go through Sabbath with me, or simply be there while I work. He misses Darla as much as I miss you, and it's good to have someone to lean on. He misses you too. If I were to fall in love again, it would be with someone like him.


"It's autumn, the first autumn you won't be here. I love you, and I miss you, and am becoming a better cook. I wish you happiness, joy, and love in your next journey, and may it be filled with the crunch of leaves and the windy days of the season you loved."