Outside the chapel stood a single large grandfather of a tree and, as if planted for reflection or adoration, a slatted wooden bench. From a cloudless blue sky, a light breeze coaxed medallion leaves, golden and brown, into the air and, in their lazy childlike way, flitting and twirling to the deep fescue below; a treasure hard to dismiss or miss. Yet, sitting, watching, listening, breathing, the choice echoed, each wave more surreal as the leaves appeared as memories, falling, inevitably, one by one. The cruel cycle forever clear to the rustic eye.
Upon the ethereal lightness of confession offered and absolution given, from what seemed like hours if not days instead of mere minutes, dispassionate words hung heavy as damp decaying soil. Back curved to bench, another breeze, more medallions took flight, each a child, each a choice, each as free as will. Zoe was dying he had said. Why, he did not know, would not know in time. The baby was healthy. He, he said he, the baby, would survive a premature birth. Permission was needed. Zoe would not survive the operation. The baby, the boy, would not survive without it.
Another leaf corkscrewed downward. The ground a treasure of nature's gold gathered around his leaden feet, expectant, looking up. A performance anticipated, action desired.
15 comments:
First time here and I am overwelmed with the beauty of the pictures,
Thanks Martin. The images I create are not to everyone's taste, but I like them. Glad you frond some beauty in them too.
In the days when it was more common for there to be unsolvable complications in childbirth, films, programs would reflect this. I remember watching these, many times, hopes shattered, choices made, mothers sacrificing their own lives for that of their unborn children, fathers too who could not bear the thought of losing their spouse and making that choice. I remember these and the harshness, the intolerable, unimaginable task of having to make such a choice, one over the other. This has a beauty within the writing to match the poignancy of the thoughts, stunning, core-touching, unforgettable regardless of outcome. Von stands here in place of Ceru, without Ceru, his son's son is the child that can be saved, his son's love (Zoe) the one he must release, everything within him must reach for that child and yet Zoe, besides being Zoe dear to him now for that reason, has the memories, knows the man, can share the love and the missing. The only thing that can be held onto here, the only float in the sea, is that it seems, unless with tired eyes I read it incorrectly, the lack of an operation will buy Zoe some time, a limited amount, the outcome inevitable. A cruel fate. I need to go back and read the reasons why Zoe was chosen, the stated reasons, hopefully Von will find some peace of mind with his decision. How you, how the characters, the story owns the heart, shapes and fashions, moves and expands, a very rare and special thing, and literature, the power of writing, more on that in response to your first at decadentjournal, at it's best. Exquisite in every which way.
I love that I can come here and count on Madame Storm's lovely words to bring me up to date on YOUR lovely words, Mr. Tree.
The story goes on and I have to come back and become a part of it again.
I miss it so.
I can't imagine this struggle. This choice. I ache with the feeling Von must have in this instant.
I have a friend whose mother passed while bringing him into this world. His whole family has always seemed so brave to me. Something I admire with my whole being.
Strumper, The Story feels like home. Whenever I'm away from it for a few days, I feel a longing to return, to come to a place that has been remarkably consistent in opening its doors and giving us a peak into another world and into other hearts that are not all that different from our own.
I can't tell you how nice it is to have you back. I'm so thrilled, all my butter has melted. :-D
Sunshine, in reading Woolf's diary last night, I marveled when she talked of reading Milton and described his work this way: "The inexpressible fineness of the style, in which shade after shade is perceptible, would alone keep one gazing into it, long after the surface business in progress has been despatched."
I think I'm liking Ms Woolf more and more. :-D
I mentioned the quote above for it set my mind to thinking about shade after shade, layers of depth, a glazing technique in painting, and to what extent I could work toward this concept in a chapter or in several chapters over time.
Expect to see more references to Woolf at the Journal. I'm finding her diary fascinating.
As always, your comments are priceless. Thank you. And get better soon. :-)
" The cruel cycle forever clear to the rustic eye"
Oh my. That was a brilliant sentence.
Meleah, that sentence was not in the first draft and I debated on adding it to the second. Only when I added "rustic" to eye did it seem to make sense, to imply the clear wisdom of the eye raised on the land, with hard work and a respect for the circle of life and death. In this sentence, Von is reflecting on the fundamental simplicity of life, a return to the undeniable ebb and flow as the natural way. Thank you for the kind words. Always appreciated.
There are times when I want to roll around in your words - when one installment isn't enough. This was one of the times that I've saved up your posts, drowning myself in your words.
Dana, I want to wrap myself in your comment like a blanket on a cold day, pulling it tighter and tighter. Thank you for the wonderful compliment. Means more than you know. :-)
"The inexpressible fineness of the style, in which shade after shade is perceptible, would alone keep one gazing into it, long after the surface business in progress has been despatched."
Tis true, I must tell you, of your writing, something which has been written in this comments box time and time again, many times by me, many times by countless others, throughout these past almost 3 years and 555 chapters. Your writing is timeless. And there is never enough time for your writing. Long before one is finished, for finishes they never do, the next arrives to lay within. Never-ending, lifetimes in a single post, a lifetime could be spent with the story as a whole, incomplete whole. Each time that I re-read, I marvel anew at the beauty, the phrasing, the way that you, like a master chef, use the simple ingredients of words, each with their own flavour, aroma, colour, shape, mould and fuse and stir creating an explosion for the taste buds, so to speak. The memory, the aftertaste, the craving lasts forever. Forever I have not seen, yet I know it.
The phrase free will within, a concept that declares all choices are ours, and yet life and situations shape us so that although free will exists as a concept, mostly that is all it is and our choices are cropped and selected by everything that we are. Von's choice will fall in the only direction that it can, and I must be careful to not be too sure of a thing I know, but what other choice would there be given the circumstances, the merciful faktum that Zoe's time is knowingly limited lending destiny to instinct. My heart aches, my chest is physically painful as I think of Von, alone, alone with the choice, alone with the responsibility, alone with the burden, unbearably sad. And yet, there is a sense, already, just as the leaves falling are part of a cycle, cruel, yes, natural, also, though this isn't quite what you meant I know, but the sense already with the words of a strong, healthy boy, a boy somehow it has always been, it somehow had to be, with the words boy, he grew clearer, the future, one imagined already, one that looked different, with Zoe and Von watching, but the child runs still, will be loved still with all of hearts. In reference to the above quote, I could sit with this chapter, sit in this one moment with Von, hold his heart, see his thoughts, feel the weight of his burden, of his choice, for always and the layers, to quote, would continue to show themselves (imagine). Touched.
O the dilemmas & the making of choices...
With or without, both painful...
Every yes is also a no. At least in the conceptual world our minds create. ;-)
Hope and trust Mona you are well. I would say fat and happy, but that just doesn't sound right. :-D
I know what I would do, so there is a 50/50 chance that he will make a choice that would be looked upon with compassion and understanding. Or if he chooses differently from another's opinion, he could be looked at with scorn.
The same happens in real life. But I guess we don't make choices based on popular vote and there will always be someone who questions WHY we did what we did.
Very curious to see how this turns out.
Jen, I can't wait to find out either. :-)
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