When is Soon

The wind whipped hard upon the willow branches, catching raindrops on silver leaves that trickled down into the wide and rushing stream. Grey waters gushed in foamy white billows, tripping hard over water weather rocks, smooth and cool beneath it. The thousand silver-green boats of willow leaves sailed the endless rapids of the small swollen creek, a thousand little boats following where the stream may take them, or break them.

The curtains of rains played the water like a harp and a drum, an endless cadence of natures cleansing song, sending the willow leaf boats on their way. The willow decked banks were heavy and full as the clouds began pulling back, and the sheets became curtains and then parted for the ever triumphant sun.

As clouds rolled back, endless white behemoths of the clear blue sky-sea, the sun shone down, glistening light upon the world of a million diamond-drops. The spider’s web in the branches, lined in crystallized sunlight, shone down upon the still rushing stream. And as a far off swallow called, nearby dove answered, and the chorus of bird-rejoicing began, the trees lines with all manner and color as they flew to bathe in the fresh tears of the sky.

Beneath bird song and sunlight there came a strange thing. The birds chattered on and on at the curiose sight, while willows bent lower till branches swayed gently in the flow, to see what was the thing coming down the river. It was bright, and white and the sunlight seemed to catch and shine and radiate from the white thing.

It was a boat, no a coracle more, of sturdy pine and painted with brilliant white. The sunlight diffused off of the coracles sides and the white glowing boat floated gently down grey currents to where the willows leaned and birds sang. And in the boat there was a woman and a man.

No, not a woman but a girl, not a man, no, a boy-man rowed the boat, with sleeved pulled up high. She sat there, smiling smiles just for him, her bright yellow parasol like a second sun in the stream. He had no cover and the water from the rain steamed off him as the sun glinted off his face, and he smiled smiles just for her. And they crept along the current, of grey gleaming waters, nearing the place where the willows leaned and birds sang.

No words were needed. No actions other than theirs. He rowed and smiled, she sat and smiled and together they smiled and smiled. And in that sacred place no words were needed and no words would ever be enough. They floated and bobbed till came the coracle to the place beneath the willows where the birds were singing.

He stood and parted the willow-curtains, silver-green blades lined with intricate gold veins. The birds stopped sang softer in the place beneath the willow’s branches. The water was stiller here, the current stopped, they sat beneath the willow’s arms and watched and listened and smiled.

The golden sun was setting far below the circles of the world, the stars were coming out of hiding, the clouds were now far away. And there in the place beneath the willow’s curtains where the birds sang, it grew darker too. The crickets began calling, one then another answered until the chorus of cricket cadence filled the air with the song of night’s coming and sun’s passing. And as answer to the coming of night they came.

First one, then another, a floating star upon the waters. They came more and more, the like a golden galaxy of lights that rushed along the water to where the small coracle floated. The fireflies came, swift and strongly shining like ten thousand balls of light. They whirled and twirled and danced for the two. She clapped and exclaimed, he thanked his little friends for their wondrous show.

The fireflies settled on the white coracle, like small lights covering the white boat, as it drifted out from the willow curtain and on down the river. He rowed slower now, but smiled still to lend her strength. Her smile had faded as they came out of the willows and she saw the house looming in the distance.

It stood tall and solid and black far off. Light shone from large windows with iron bars and heavy curtains to keep out the light. The walls were high, and thick and made of hate and even now she heard their gates slamming behind her as they always did. He touched her hand, she looked back at him, he smiled a smile just for her. Words were not needed, words would never do in this sacred place.

The stream would take them further down, further to where the gates were. The coracle would stop at the small deck. She would walk back in, into the cold world where they said she belonged. Into that place called home. Where would he go? Where did he go? When would he go? A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.

“Soon.” He said, one word, a word so powerful the heavens seemed to roar with him, the stars agreeing in silent choruses of light.

And it he was right. Soon the clouds would come again, the rains would fall in sheets and curtains and all other manner of cloths. Soon he would bring the white coracle for her again, and she would gather her yellow parasol. Soon they would float down the grey creek to the place where the willows bend and the birds sing. And soon he would tell her the words neither dared to speak yet.

“Soon.” She said and stepped up from the boat onto the deck and walked through the gates in the thick walls of stone.

“Soon.” He breathed as she was gone, and he was alone once more.