George and Pamela walked hand-in-hand, as they slowly meandered
through the overgrown grass, in the field where they once shared picnics during
their courting days. The sky was bright blue with no clouds in sight. The sun warmed their bodies, as they continued walking, as
if they had all the time in the world.
Pamela had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer, stage
4, and they knew, this would probably be her last walk to the old farmstead and
barn where she used to have a beautiful gallery of her wildlife paintings and scenes
from the old barn and farmland. She especially loved painting the colorful wildflowers
- Fringed Loosestrife, Smooth-stemmed Eveningstar and the Ten-petal
Eveningstar, Sticky Jacob’s-ladder and Daisies - that seemed to pop up out of
nowhere.
George had managed the farm, growing corn, wheat, potatoes,
and asparagus where others had tried and failed. It had been a wonderful place
to raise their five children, six dogs, three cats, and a rooster or two and
chickens.
Pamela gripped George’s thin arm, as she began to trip and
fall. Frail as he was, he caught her, smiled, and they embraced. Some things
never changed between them, even though their bodies had grown old over the
seventy years since they had met at a rural school in Montana when they were in
the fifth grade.
As they approached the old barn, George lifted the rotting
wooden bar and opened the door. The musty smell, the hay, the tools… were still
there, as they had left them. They continued walking to the back of the barn,
through a door to another room. Although the gallery was now empty, they looked
around, as if Pamela’s paintings were still on display and smiled at each
other.
George winked. “Pamela, you ‘shore’ was a great artist and
you are still beautiful to me.”
They embraced again and held each other tightly, knowing this
would be the last time.
I originally wrote
this during our Practice Writing Group with the prompt of “empty gallery” in 14
minutes. I thought of wildflowers from my area: Columbine, Black-eyed Susan,
Butter and Eggs, and Daisies and later looked up wildflowers from Montana to
include in this writing.
Precious Linda, c.2013
