The Woodsman's Son
His eyes slipped glossy in the moment. His heart slowed as he searched his father's expression. He was far too young to speak the words so wisely chosen "daddy" a ragged breath escaping him "Am I dying?".
He was seven, no child at such an age should be faced with seeing death, least of all his own. His father, a man of the woods sat half under the boy. Resting partially within his lap, cradled, His only son, laying crushed below the felled tree.
What does a father say in that moment? How does a father look his boy in the eye, knowing it's the last time they'll speak. Nothing could make this right. There were no words that could be spoken that would justify this for his wife, for himself.
Watching in pain as a moment lasts a lifetime. Where he sees his seven-year-old growing, playing with other boys, taking his father's trade, meeting the girl who would someday be his wife, and having children of his own in time.
All washed away in the split of a second. By the pine surrendering to the will of the father's axe. Taking revenge, bucking in the final moment to tip off keel and claiming what mattered most to the man.
What does a father say in that moment, how does a father look his boy in the eye. In this moment, the father cleared away his sorrow, he did the hard thing. "You're fine, my child. We're going to be okay".
Peace, relief on the child's face, only owning it for a moment before life vacated his features, his chest sank and chose not to rise again. his head lulled back and he was in a better place. His father, left in a storm of torment.
The forest... the wild.... left with its revenge.
Copyright © Jesse Zerlaut | Year Posted 2016
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