He woke up at the foot of the mountain near the river. As the mists cleared from in front of his eyes he knew that he was once more drawn into the dreamworld. He could hear her name in the wind as it laid the leaves down across the bridge like breadcrumbs. Instinctively he follows the trail onto the wooden deck. Each leaf was imprinted with a symbol that represented a quality of his true love. Beauty, loyalty, passion, intelligence, creativity and joy and more. As walked further across the bridge collecting the leaves the symbols kept adding new traits to the list. As he reached the center he looked up from the last leaf. She looked back at him with her own basket of leaves in her arms. The mountain mists rolled between them as the real world pulled them from the bridge. Each awoke in their own bed with memory of the other’s perfect eyes looking into their own.
Later that same morning as he was driving to his new job he came to the crossing. His foggy memory of previous night’s dream was still fresh in his mind but he couldn’t recall the details. The fog obscured all but the bridge’s threshold as he stopped his truck in the middle of the quiet country road and stepped out. Just as he was beginning to recognize the structure a single leaf drops from the forest and disappears into the fog. Curious about what was happening he starts walking across. Before he takes his second step she emerges holding the single leaf. It was only when their eyes met that they recalled the dream.
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I sat by by the Kanawha River the other morning. I rolled down the window and was enjoying the morning sun as danced on the water. It’s my time to enjoy life and absorb a few minutes of peaceful contemplation. The ducks are swimming around playing follow the leader as a sleepy butterfly flexes it’s wings. A long lonely cry breaks the silence as the mourning dove announced its presence. I looked around and saw only one. It’s mate was nowhere to be found. Again it cries out with a heart-wrenching tone. Soon it hobbled into view cocking it’s head from side to side and straining to listen for a reply. The other life on the river becomes quiet and still as the next call echoes. I began to feel the desperation of the lonely mourning dove searching for its true love. Then I heard it. The reply came from the other shore. The little dove perks up as does a vertical take-off as it flies towards true love. Faith never gives up. Faith calls out expecting the answer regardless of the current circumstances. And when the answer comes, faith responds without hesitation.
A morning stop at the junction of the Gauley River, New River and the Kanawha River was rewarded with a display of the mists rising up from the surrounding mountains. Fog and mists are inspiration for the imagination. While looking at the scene before my eyes it was easy to conjure up what it must have been like during the settlement era. There were no houses or roads. Just the river and the tree covered mountains with the occasional rocky ledge. If I close my eyes and focus on the image I can hear a Shawnee playing his flute as he sits on the bank. He’s working on a love song for his true love, drawing inspiration from the song birds. The tune has to be perfect because it’s the only dowry he has. I can also smell the fire from his camp as his breakfast cooks. He’s having fish from the weir he made yesterday. He’s wrapped the fish in wild aromatic herbs and the scent is amazing. The leaves of Carolina Allspice impart a lemon flavor to meal.
The young warrior pauses to make a mental note of the tune and turns towards his meal. He pretends not to notice that she has been watching him the whole time. He smiles as he watches her reflection in the calm pool along the river’s edge. Playfully he calls out, “If only there was someone who would share this meal with me!” With slight giggle his true love emerges from edge of the bushes. They embrace and I am called back to the real world. I pulled my truck back onto the highway and began my morning commute. However, as I did could have sworn that I saw the two lovers reflected in the river.
Our days seem to be spent in such a rush in the modern world. Today has been no exception. One of my goals in life is to get to point where driving is more about the journey than just making it the next destination. That’s probably why I like antique cars. Not only is the body design more artistic but the ride seems to be more relaxed. In spite of rough suspension and so much road noise that you have to scream at each other to have a conversation something just feels right. If there’s a radio at all its probably going to be AM with all the static and crackling of yesteryear. And with that I come to the end of tonight’s journey. Shut down the motor, set the break and refuel for tomorrow.
A balmy breeze sweeps across the open field gently shaking the tall grasses. Just outside the frame the sweet scent of roses finds it way to the spot where we’re just taking in the warmth. The curious little hoverfly buzzes up our faces for a better look at the giants who have come to visit his space. I heard you giggle slightly when he landed on the end of my nose just make sure that I wasn’t some strangely tall flower. Satisfied that I wasn’t a good source of pollen or nectar he lifted off once more and returned to the daisy. This is perfect spot for our time together. We spread out the old blanket that we keep in the back of car for emergencies. It’s our getaway time. No agendas. No responsibilities. Just time to lay down and watch the world. We look at clouds and make up stories about the shapes we see. We laugh and talk until the birds singing transitions into crickets. Just before the last rays of the sun disappear behind the mountains the little hoverfly returns. I couldn’t help but giggle when he landed on your nose too.
It was a perfect day but we can’t stay here forever. We gather our blanket and put it in its place in the back of the car until the next perfect day. Which I hope is tomorrow.