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"I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather my spark burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy, permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time." ~Jack London

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Flight



The rain was moving in. I watched the darkness make its way over the top of the mountain, down over the valley below, leaving only this field illuminated, then the next, like the flashlights they used to search for her. It inched ever nearer as I sat scribbling away, determined to finish the final pages before it reached me. I raced against the elements.

There had been posters along the journey, bold face type pleading for attention, big round eyes and an inviting smile. I stared at her picture. The word “missing” dropped from my mind to my heart and quickly sunk to the depths of my soul. The word “missing” was more sorrowful and lonely than I had ever known it to be. The word “missing” had lost all of its tender hope.

It was no longer a plea -- “Find me. Help me. Please.” Instead it stood as a reminder of all that was lost. -- “I’ve left. I’ve gone. Goodbye.”

Her body was found at the bottom of the waterfall.

I didn’t know her. I can’t recall ever seeing her at the guesthouse next door, dancing with the others on the porch while they banged their drums and sang their songs to the mountains. But she could have been there. She could have been.

Or she could have already left for her walk into the woods alone. She could have already been on the path to the waterfall when the clouds, swollen with rain, began to slowly emerge above the peaks. She could have already been standing there, listening to the rushes of the cascading waterfall quicken. Faster and faster they fell.

No one could determine exactly how it was she came to fall with them. Perhaps she slipped, perhaps she jumped, perhaps the wind nudged her to the edge. No one knew if she was gone before she hit the water, or if it was instant, or if she lay there crying out for hours before the darkness came. Whatever happened, she had left this world alone.

Six large birds flew above me, hovering on the fast approaching winds, escaping those places where the rain had already begun. I wondered if they had looked for her, if they had seen her final moments on this earth. Maybe this flight was a tribute to her, or maybe, she was this flight. She was the birds and their wings and the air beneath them. She was the impending rain and the shadowed fields and the earth that shook with thunder below my naked feet. She was the final pages of my journal and the words I would fill them with. She was gone and she was here. She was no longer missing.

I do not know what death is. I have no notion as to what will happen after I’m gone, but I’d like to think, I’d like to believe, that the birds will know the second my heart stops beating. I’d like to believe that they will take me in their gentle wings and, if even for an instant, allow me to hover above this grand earth and know what it feels like to soar. I’d like to believe that I’d see below, poised on a cliff, scribbling away to evade the imminent rain, a young writer who has only just begun the long journey of her life.

I will smile. I will say “yes, I was only beginning too.”

8 comments:

MB said...

Frankie, you have re-launched yourself. Keep going! It is fabulous to come here and read all this. Keep going!
xo

mareymercy said...

This whole last paragraph is beautiful, but I really really love this: "I’d like to believe, that the birds will know the second my heart stops beating."

BessieSnickers said...

Frankie, thanks for looking in on my blog so I could come see yours. This is wonderful writing - takes what could be a maudlin subject and spins it into gentleness and hope. Just beautiful.
pjune

Anonymous said...

ok, seriously, does anyone know of a publisher we can sign Frankie up with....is that how it works? How does that work anyway?

Love, love, loved this and the last one and all of them! I really enjoy the magic travels you give flight to my imagination. It is a treat. Thank you

alan said...

For all the words in this world, so few can use them to paint!

'Tis a privilege to be here!

alan

Cinnamon Spider! said...

Your write with such beauty. I loved reading it, even though it was filled with sorrow. The 'missing' part hurt me.

gkgirl said...

beautiful haunting words...
full of introspection
and wonder.

Sky said...

ohh, frankie! this is my favorite of your posts so far. this is extraordinary writing!

"...maybe she was the flight..." continuing in such beautiful prose to "she was no longer missing." death a never-ending circle of life. just exquisite, frankie!