Tuesday, September 7, 2010

When the Summer Sun Sets


The rain was Mother Nature’s myriad fingers drumming restlessly on the roof of the cottage.  For hours the sound had droned on.  At first it had been exciting as a few shy pings had landed randomly on the roof and on the ground outside. 

A small face was pressed against one of the windows in the room that acted as the study and library.  The small boy had dashed over at the first sound of rainfall.  He watched as the large drops hit the dry ground and shattered into a hundred smaller pieces.  It didn’t take long for the pace to increase and soon the ground had turned from the light brown of dirt to the darker color of mud.  The scene had lost its interest, the boy found himself once again in his chair.  He was restless and wandered from his chair back to the window to see if anything had changed.  It was as he had left it, nothing changed—it still wasn’t exciting.

With a sigh he pulled his face back from the glass and looked at his reflection.  His hair was the color of the dry dirt before the rain started.  As it soaked into the ground the rain changed the color of the dirt to match his eyes.  He smiled at his reflection.  It smiled back.  His face didn’t look like his grandpa’s though people were always saying that.  He turned from the window bench and looked at the old man that he was supposed to resemble.

The man sat in a tall wingback chair.  The chair’s colors were faded and the fabric worn from much use.  His grandpa looked faded and worn as well.  But the boy knew better than that.  His grandpa had a deep hidden well of life and energy somewhere behind the gray hair and wrinkled face. No, thought the boy, he doesn’t look like me.  He walked back to the chair he had been occupying and plopped down into it with another sigh.  He threw his legs over one arm and rested his head on the other.  He rested one arm on stomach and let the other hang off the front of the chair.  It played idly with a book that he had given up on reading.

“You know, Marcus, you’ll wear a path in the carpet if you keep pacing back and forth like that,” said his grandpa.  His head was still angled down toward his book, glasses at the end of his nose.  His eyes were raised to see over the tops of the rims, his brow furrowed.  There was a hint of a smile on his mouth. 

“I’m bored grandpa.  Will the rain ever end?”

“Yes, very soon.  In fact, it ends…” here the man paused.  Then with a nod of his head he finished his sentence, “…now.”


Marcus was shocked when the rain stopped almost as fast as it started.  Wide eyed he gaped at his grandpa.

“How did you do that?!”

“I didn’t do anything and I didn’t make it happen.  I was just listening, and the rain told me that it was finished.  You might not be so bored if you learned to listen.  You boredom is over now because there is something that I need to do and I think today is the day.  I will need your help.”

At that all prior boredom was eliminated at the prospect of something to do filled Marcus’ with the energy that precedes action.  “What are we going to do?” he asked.

“There is a bottle on the shelf behind my desk.  It’s labeled ‘SSS’, bring it to me.”  Following the instruction Marcus went around the desk and faced the wall that filled with odds and ends.  One section was devoted to bottles of various types.  He scanned them until he found the one with three curving letters written in black ink on the parchment label.  It was tall and rectangular and he had to use both hands to carry it to his grandpa.  His grandpa took the bottle and removed the cork.  He inhaled a deep breath, closing his eyes and obviously enjoying the aroma.  He extended the bottle to his grandson, held in one of his large hands.  The boy smelled what looked to be an empty bottle.  Tendrils of an aroma crept into the boys nostrils.  He was surprised at the fragrance.  It was warm and smooth and sweet and harsh all at the same time.  It smelled like power and wisdom.  It smelled old and young.

“Wonderful, no?”  said his grandpa holding the bottle up to the light.  Marcus saw that the bottle he judged empty actually was not.  There in the bottom was the remainder of what had once filled the whole bottle.  It was a bright pink shiny liquid that was almost creamy, creamy but not heavy.  It shimmered in the bottle.

“What is it?” 

“You’ll know when you see it.”  He said heading for the door, motioning for his grandson to follow.  They put on coats and headed out into the warm afternoon.  In the time since the rain had stopped the dark cloud cover had dispelled and the blue sky was again visible.

“Follow me.”  Said the man as he sloshed through the mud.

*          *          *

Half an hour later they stood in a meadow.  In front of them the sun was a huge glowing disc of orange and red sitting just above the horizon.  The blue of the sky was being replaced by other colors—every color and shade from yellow to red and beyond.  The old man pointed and the boy followed his finger and saw in front of them puddles of water that had accumulated from the rain.  The puddles were reflecting the colors of the summer sunset

“It will take a moment, but I think today it will come together.”  It was warm outside and the air smelled of the past rain.  There was a slight breeze that couldn’t quite dispel the humidity.  The sunset was one of the magnificent end of summer displays that were truly breathtaking.  The whole of the sky was a part of it, spreading from the west were the sun was sinking, all the way to the eastern horizon where it had risen.  The few remaining clouds were orange and pink with purple edges.

“What will work?  I thought we were going to fill your jar.  What are we doing here?”

“We are filling my jar, this is the place.  Now, that one there is the one I want.”  He pulled from his shoulder bag the jar and a wooden ladle.  He handed them both to Marcus.  He held the jar with one arm holding it against his body.  With the other hand he took the ladle.  “Go to that one there, yes the one that looks like a perfect circle.  Unstop the bottle and when I tell you, I want you to fill it.  When you scoop don’t go deep, take it from the top”

“But it’s just water—” he started to protest, thinking of the fragrant pink liquid that he had seen and smelled.  But his grandpa only cut him off.  And with a wave of the hand directed him to the round puddle.

“Be ready, when I tell you, fill the jar.  Get as much as you can but when I say stop, stop.  Even if it’s not full.”

The boy went to the puddle and unstopped the bottle and crouched waiting.  He was little confused and wondered what his grandpa was getting at.

“Ready?”  his thoughts were cut off.  His grandpa waited a moment until the reflection off the puddle was the right color, the exact color of what was already in the bottle.  “Now.  Fill it now.”

The boy scooped water from the puddle into the jar.  From where he crouched it was just clear clean rain water.  He filled and emptied two dozen scoops before his grandpa shouted that it was enough.  He stoppered the container and stood.  In the moment it took to do so his grandpa was at his side.  The man lifted the jar and held it high.  It caught the last rays of light before the sun slank behind the horizon.  The boy was shocked that the liquid was not water at all but the same pink liquid from the study.  It glimmered and shone, it danced and moved.  It was a bottle of the color of sunset.

This should be enough for another year, for another winter to come,” said the man.  And the walked in silence back to the cottage. 

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