BEAUTY

by NANCY

Today I saw a toddler dressed for church.
Red curls, barely tamed, brushed a white collar.
How carefully he placed each step.  Shiny new shoes.
His small hand, safe in his dad’s, the two entered the hallowed space.
  Beauty.

A blue jay, wet feathers bedraggled from his play in the puddle. 
Now, tentative on the ‘shore’, he studies the bath.
Ripples calming.
Back in he goes.
  Beauty.

“Father.”  He’d heard the approach of the cane-aided gait.  And expected the pause.

“I didn’t intend to intrude, Vincent.  Actually, I was quite content to enjoy your obvious pleasure in whatever it is that you’re reading.”

“Please, come in.  Sit here.”  Vacating the ‘throne chair’, anointed such by Devin so long ago, Vincent drew it from the table and helped his father settle onto the worn velvet.  “It’s a book, from your shelf, so you must have looked it over at least a dozen times.” 

“Beauty”.  Father hesitated in thought, then smiled.  “Yes, I do remember.  A gift, I think, from Kanin, Olivia and Luke one Winterfest.  A simple composition to charm and disarm, as I recall.”

Vincent smiled at the portrayal.

“You’re missing her.”

“Most of Moran’s word sketches are those Catherine will have experienced; they would call to her heart, live on there.  I look forward to the gladdened depths she will add to his prose when I share this with her.”

“When is she due back?”

“Tuesday.  Her flight lands in the evening at 7:30.  I will be at the threshold.”

“Was that the message that came for you?”

Vincent nodded.

“Today is Friday.  You’ve a long time to wait.”

“Not when every moment hovers warm with hope, sweetly layered with love, abundant with memories.  It’s a simple thing, Father: all Beauty is one and, for me, her name is Catherine.”

 ________

For H
Summer 2013

The book ‘Beauty’, its author and the excerpt, exist only in my imagination.