The Wind in the Willows

Another hand wrapped around hers, the timid old woman opened her eyes a final time. It was quiet, with just the slowing beep of the monitor in the background. She studied every part of her son’s grief-stricken face, as he parted his lips to speak.

“Oh, ma.” His thick thumb, also worn with time, traced the back of her wrinkled hand as tears continued to drop from his wet cheeks. The lady smiled weakly, trying to hold on just for him. He let out a shaky, shuddered breath -

“You can rest, ma. It’s alright” He finally breathed out, it taking a world of strength to utter. His lips quivered, his mouth hung open, taking a moment to speak again. “You can be with him again.” He then gently kissed her knuckle, as Lorraine closed her eyes to rest; one final time.

His fading voice then spoke once more, “it’s alright.”

The flatline started to fade, replaced by the sound of a soft breeze. A sweet smell travelled through her nostrils, sending her waves of nostalgia as she then opened her eyes. She stood in a cottage surrounded by a wide piece of land, fields full of thriving flowers, mixed in with an abundance of reeds.

The sight was familiar, as it resembled her first home; beautiful, timeless, and remote. Away from everything, but most importantly, it was something she called her own. The old woman slowly stepped throughout the comforting halls, with a hand on the walls as a support, taking in each corridor, room, and crevice. Lorraine then stopped in the end of the hallway, at the front door. Next to its frame, was a small table. Keys hung above it, but on top, laid a singular photo frame.

Herself, her husband, and son.

Elderly fingers brushed across it, as if she were seeing it for the first time. After moments of studying the image, she turned to face the front door, opening the brown wooden one, revealing the screen.

 As Lorraine stepped through the open screen door, her once cardigan, old lady pants and shoes transformed into a yellow sundress, with simple white flats. Her skin turned from saggy to plump, as her hair grew and transformed from grey to brown. Her wrinkly hands, once held by her son, turned smooth as the warm sunrays engulfed them with their warmth.

The white flats hit the dark, rich soil as Lorraine stepped off of the cottage porch. The fields were as beautiful as she remembered, from the grass, reeds, and flowers to the wide lake in the distance, accompanied by a single, astonishing willow tree. Lorraine then leaned down, to pick a single white flower placing it on top of her ear.

In awe by the gorgeous scenery, Lorraine was inclined to continue her walk. The reeds made a small ‘sssh’ sound as the wind danced through them. The now youthful woman reached out her hand to feel the flowing inflorescence as she walked against the breeze. It wasn’t itchy, as one would assume; the reeds felt soft, gliding against her pale palms. Her eyes wondered around loosely as she continued to step closer and closer to the lake, the golden sun hugging her skin as it did the nature around herself.

She hummed a simple tune, now have forgotten about the worry of her then life. The cancer, sickness, and grief; now, none of it mattered. The woman was at peace.

As her walk ended, the nostalgic sight of the willow tree, followed by the lake, protected by unruly weeds and lily pads, filled her with even more warmth, if that was even possible. 

Her palm touched the rough surface of the willow tree, its drooped leaves shading her light skin from the sun. Sweet air filled her lungs again, as she sat down to cross her legs once again. Soft breeze gently tickled her cheeks, her brown curls twirling against it.

“Suppose it might be too late for a mow.” A deep voice sounded behind the tree, walking around to reveal himself. Lorraine turned her head around sharply to find the face for the voice. A man, as young as herself stood, one arm leaning against the tree, his is other hand sat on his belt, hung by his thumb against the buckle.

 Lorraine’s gaze wondered slowly upward his body, starting from his worn leather boots, moving up his paint splattered denim jeans, past his belt, his white T-shirt and finally, his face. Dark whisps of hair, slightly damp with sweat, fell onto his forehead. Dark stubble covered parts of his chin and jaw, working harmoniously with his youthful complexion. He adjusted his hat, lifting it slightly to sweep his hair from his forehead back up underneath.

 Lorraine’s soft lips moved to a smile, exhaling gently. She placed a hand on the ground, adjusting her dress above her knees as she leaned towards the man.

“I suppose it is, darling. You’ve been painting today?” Her smooth, sweet voice asked.

The man merely nodded, moving his hand to try a failed attempt at wiping the already dried liquid off.

He then sat down beside her, looking towards the lake as she did. His thick palms clasped together, as his elbows sat comfortably on his knees. His eyes were less astonished than Lorraine’s were, his more of a calm, peaceful feel. As if he’d been there for years.

“Mmh,” He hummed, as if he had remembered something.

“Stopped by Martins,” The man said.

“Grabbed you this.” He picked up a singular lily flower that he had laid down beside the tree. Lorraine’s eyes gleamed, taking the white flower in her soft fingers. “Oh, James.” She breathes out, a wide grin plastered across her cheeks as her finger tips brushed against the petals.

“I missed you, Laury.” He sounded, taking her hand, and kissing her knuckle.

“And I missed you.” Lorraine moved closer to James, leaning her head against his chest, as they know both could observe the setting sun, underneath their favourite willow tree.