Sometimes, when it’s still; when the clouds hang heavy, I stand on the edge of the road and gaze at Thompson’s Bridge. Sometimes, it appears ugly. Other days, it’s beautiful. Today … well, I’m not sure. There’s a mist in the air. A light rain of sorts and my shoes are soaking wet. I pull my jacket tight and step back on my bike. Yet, I can’t peddle away. Somehow, I must keep looking. Keep watching the bridge. And I let the tears creep from my eyes; let them blend with the rain and the gray of the day as I finally ride away.

It does no good to dwell on the past, I tell myself. It simply never helps. I repeat the thought over and over and tell the mist to clear my mind.

But the rhythm of the whirring bike tires argue with me and I shut my eyes tight. The sight of my son hanging from the rafters of the aged structure strangles my heart and I can barely breathe. I allow the bike to arc around. Allow it to return to where I need to be.

This old rope I carry is made of prickly hemp. Raggedy and rough, it’s seen better days too. Now, it has yet one more job.

I look upward inside the bridge and my son watches me, his face white; pinched and drawn. As if on the verge of asking ‘why’.

“I’m ready, honey … this time I’m ready.”

There was no answer from my child. My dear, sweet son, wafting in the darkness above where I drop. I let life jerk away into the mist and wonder how I can still hear the owl calling my name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© 2019, Susan Miller. All rights reserved.

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Susan Miller
Clinging to the yesterdays, I sit, old now, and tired. But still riding my horse … looking not young and lithe, but more a sack of potatoes being toted faithfully by a horse almost sour in his work. Yet … we keep going. He, walking and grabbing weeds. Me, pretending I’m still young and strong. I dream. I long. And I tell the story of my life through fiction and the occasional poem.
Light Rain
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4 thoughts on “Light Rain

  • March 24, 2020 at 10:46 am
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    Hi Susan,

    Your are doing a great and your showing emotion like Thompson Bridge sometimes it appears ugly, other days it’s beautiful, I hope you write more.

    Champers

  • March 22, 2020 at 6:03 pm
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    Hi there,

    Wow. There is a great deal of emotion packed into so few words here. The tragedy involved here, in fact, it is a double tragedy is haunting.

    Thank you for sharing.

    ~MP~

  • November 18, 2019 at 9:07 am
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    Hello, Susan

    Very well written and a tragic story.

    “It does no good to dwell on the past, I tell myself. It simply never helps.” A very true sentiment here. Rarely, does it make us stronger and certainly doesn’t help us.

    Well done with no suggestions for edits from me and I look forward to reading more of your work.

    Willy

  • November 2, 2019 at 2:33 pm
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    Hi Susan

    Wow, that is one vivid story, my friend. The picture caps it off well and helps to set the scene. It is the sort of story that if read aloud would naturally come out as a whisper.

    The mentions of the old rope sent a shiver up my spine.

    So sad, but perfectly written with no corrections needed that I could see.

    Great work

    PD

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