The Returning

The Return The quietness spreads thickly, the atmosphere even thicker. Nature has lost its voice as the house glowers down at him caped in silent stillness; a muscle waiting to twitch! He side-steps the house’s deafening glare, slipping into the secluded garden where nostalgia waits to ambush him with memories unrolled everywhere; hanging in the trees, draped across flower beds lounging on the wooden bench. He feels worryingly exposed and turning contemplates retreat, only to watch the road scamper the horizon as if returning to retrieve something lost as he himself is now attempting in resuscitating a father-son relationship. A tree’s heartbeat thumps an alert, a bird’s throat trembles a warning; he realizes his pulse has disappeared borrowed by encircling shadows within his mind. Dark thoughts holding taut memories; his hands strangling imaginary, squeeze balls. He may hold secrets in his fingertips; special spells in deep pockets of experience but perhaps returning to the cradle of his youth, after thirty stretched years is a miscalculation. The past has moved along; the house and his father, perhaps not! Ian Souter