To Anya, With Love

A wonderful writing prompt I found:

"After a walk on the beach you return to your spot to find a red rose carefully placed in your beach chair."



The sun felt magnificent of my face, as the rolling white waves crashed onto the shore. The ocean water tickled my toes, and the wet, lumpy sand massaged my bare soles.

I let my long, sun-bleached, hair fall from the stiff embrace of my pony tail. The loose ends waved frantically in the sudden breeze.



I've never felt so relaxed, never known the feeling of complete release. I'm in heaven, I think, true heaven.

I turn back to see my spot on the beach. A cluster of palm trees and a small white beach chair that sit so quietly amid the openness here.



As I walk toward my chair, the dry sand sticking to my wet feet, I feel the breeze blow gently, sweeping the stray strands of my hair across my nose. I brush them away, blinking the bright sun from my eyes.



Upon my arrival, I notice something sitting on the chair. A red rose, the fiery color contrasting so perfectly with the paleness of this place.



I stoop to pick up the sweetly scented flower. Holding it to my nose, I smell the damp and mildewy smell of life. Oh, the beauty I smell! The heavy petals feel like silk against my tired skin. I grip the flow with my other hand. Tpp! A sharp prick and a pain runs through my finger.



I look down to see a red droplet glide down my finger. It hangs at the tip, like fresh dew on a leaf. Then, abruptly, it falls, crashing softly onto the white drifts of sand below.



There is a note on the chair as well. Neatly folded in a rectangle, but yellowed with age. The paper crinkles between my fingers, as I unravel it. I see the spidery writing....



                                                                                              I remember it well.





To Anya With Love,

Ten years, it has been, and not a day goes by that I do not think of you. My darling, my dearest, you were my life. I lived only for you. And now I have nothing left. These days, as I grow old, I think of you, and I know that you must be thinking of me too. Oh, what I wouldn't give to hold you in my arms again, to kiss your forehead each morning as I once did. I'm setting this letter here, next to your grave, to tell you that it won't be long until I come up to meet you once again. To hold you in my arms and walk hand in hand on the beaches of heaven.

until then,

Henry



With tears trickling down my cheeks, I sit down softly in my chair.





To wait for my husband. To welcome him home.





                                                                                                  To heaven.