Disclaimer:
This
is a work of fiction. Any
names,
characters, places, incidents are either from
my
imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events, places
or an owned
idea
is
purely coincidental.
Many
years ago, I can’t remember the specific time or day, but
it was in
the
month
of April,
I came across a beautiful landscape. A
long time
family
friend
introduced
me
to
it.
It was like something you only dream of or tales
one
hears
from
an
other
party.
Majestic
waterfalls,
vibrant colors of beautiful
flowers
from all over
the
color
spectrum.
They
had a kaleidoscopic beauty
to them.
Each blade
of grass was like
a
unique
emerald
blessing
me
with
its presence. Bark so fresh
I’d swear
it was made
from
chocolate.
I
remember
the
location
but there
was
nothing special
about it until the
month
of April.
I
was going for a walk, connecting
with nature,
making
every
moment
count when
suddenly
there
it
was like
I
had walked
into a portal of an alternate
universe
and
I
never
wanted
to leave,
and
for many years
I came
back
to gaze
upon
that beauty
until one
year
it was gone
and
I haven’t
been
able
to
find her
again.
There
were
many
things that lead
to this event,
a lake
full
of mussels
which
I have
never
and will never
forget
even
though I did everything
in my power
to do so, a meadow
that was first landscape
to
make
my
heart
sing and I ungratefully
burnt it down by accident
and I’ll never
be
able
to
gaze
upon
that beauty
again save
for
a photograph, a trip to South Africa in hopes
that I could forget
what I had lost as well
as to make
new
memories
that went
by just as poorly. And there
many
other
small events
that also carry a
strong psychedelic
experience
when
I remember
them.
My
first burger,
my first sherbet,
my
first snowfall, the
first time I smelled a rose but the thorns cut deep, the
first
time
I
tasted
bread.
I
remember
every
curve
to
that bread.
The
visual
is what’s the
most
engraved
for me
in
my brain.
All stories
that give
me
the
perfect
picture.
But I will save
those
for
a later
time.
They
all lead
to those
many
years
ago in April when
I not only wanted
to gaze
upon
incredible
landscapes
but learned
to appreciate
them
more
as
well
as being
in the
moment.
But
taking myself
back to that time
in
that secret
garden
or
what may very
well
be
a
modern
look of the
Elysian
Fields,
for lack of a better
word, before
it
left
me
forever,
I would like
to
recall
my stories
from that time.
As
I was saying, as beautiful
as all those
previous
moments
in my life
were,
nothing
felt
more
real
and yet
surreal
than this place
more
specifically
the
creature
I
was to meet.
As
I continued
to
walk
toward
this enchanting
pond, I noticed
a nymph, or
more specifically as the greeks
like
to
call it an Anthousai,
much like the myth goddess,
Chloris, a flower nymph. When
I came
to
speak
to
her,
while
she
was
very
much willing to talk and
open
her
self
up to me,
she
refused
to bless
me
by
offering
her
name
and
so since
I
came
to
meet
her
in April, which
the
origin
of the
word
is believed
to mean
to
open,
I felt
that there
was
no better
name
for
her
as
she
was
so willing to open
herself
to me
even
though her
name
was a mystery.
When
I first noticed
her,
her
hair was made
up
of lilies,
and the
color
was bright red.
Her
skin was as smooth as silk. When
she
laughed,
the
heavens
opened
up so that the
angels
could join to gaze
upon
her
smile.
But
this tale
is not to discuss solely her radiance,
as
heavenly
as God himself
may have
created
it. Her
beauty
was equal
to that of her
free
spirit,
personality
and independence.
And
yet,
she
still
was looking for that special
someone. I selfishly
thought it was me.
But
to be
fair, I have
never
met anyoneone better. Mirror images to be sure, but
never
the
real
thing. I
loved
her.
Maybe
it
was a selfish
love;
maybe
even
the
kind
of love
that
I couldn’t even
to this day tell
her
of but there
it
is. There
are
no
words to describe
it
with, no equal
comparisons. She
talked
often
of her
romantic involvement
with satyrs, but I guess
in addition to my refusal
to notice
that
she
wasn’t
even
my species,
I thought they would be nothing more than dust in the wind.
To
this day I am reminded
fondly of when
she
grabbed
me
by
the
arm
to lead
me
somewhere,
show
me
something.
Or
the
times
I would show up and her
hair,
which was made
out
of flowers,
would be
changed
from red
to blue
to
green
to jet
black and back again. Just being
able
to
be
present
with her
for the
times
we
met
and that she was at least willing to converse and feel comfortable
around me which felt strange and yet exhilarating for it to come from
something in the female form. I’m not sure
if I’ll ever entirely forget her face or how she made me feel like
I was on cloud nine, cliché I know.
For
some reason, I was never able to see her outside of that month. I
tried many times. Every
time, outside of the
month
of April,
I would come to that very place and the only thing I noticed was a
bridge which seemed strange, because
I never
noticed
it, and yet
every
other
month of
the
year
there
was
that newly
man made
bridge.
It
was breathtaking
to look at to be
sure,
but
it didn’t feel
like
my
April. It had flowers,
rich chocolate
wood
for the
decking,
it looked
straight out of that mouse
based
company movie.
You
know the
one.
About
a path
to
your dreams
and
fantasies,
but the
cool
reality
of death
shows itself.
The
bridge
at
the
very
end,
anyway. But it didn’t have
any
life
it
was just a bridge.
One
fateful
April, a few
years
ago, I came
to
the
very
same
place.
She
was
there.
We
had
a wonderful
time,
I
can’t remember
what we
talked
about but after
we
spent
hours talking about things only God remembers,
when
I turned
to say goodbye,
she
was
gone.
All
that was left
was that bridge.
I
looked
up and all I saw was red
lilies
dancing in
the
wind
and a goat running closely
behind.
And I realize
just
how much she
truly
wasn’t
meant
for me.
That
another
mystical creature
was
bound to take
her
away from me.
I never
talked
to her
again.
For
a while,
I
often
came
to
out meeting
place,
hoping
to talk to her
once
again,
gaze
upon
that face
once
more,
but
there
was only once
that
I was able
to
get
a glimpse
of
her.
Today,
just as I am writing this in my journal, she
was
with her
lover.
Happy. A satyr of course,
as
they
are
the
only
creature
that
seemed
gain her
interest.
But seeing
her
with him with the
smile
that
the
heavens
went
out of their
way
to see,
laughing,
loving, I’m happy for her.
For
there
is
no other
way to feel.
She
met
the
man
that will make
her
life
full
of
joy and adventure
and
music for the
end
of her
days.
When
they
left,
I decided
to cross this bridge
where
she
lead
me
in
the
hopes
that I too might find love.
For
know I know what I seek.
I have
no
idea
where
the
journey
will take
me.
But
that’s life.
AN
ADVENTURE
