I peak through the kitchen blinds to slowly reveal the external. My eyes sink when they meet the swarming desolated clouds. There hasn’t been light for months. I sit on a wooden stool facing the sea. The waves follow each other for hours. Usually in these late days of May the shy sun would’ve greeted our lonely town by now. Only a silent doom has said hello, and since then never departed. Most have suffered waiting for any light. The bleakness has been eating us alive. The world has shown us nothing but darkness. Hope is almost lost. The birds stopped singing long ago, the humming wind has been absent. The smell of citrus summer has been forgotten. All thats warm are the memories we cling to, and those too shall pass in time. My neighbours harvest is perished, they won’t have food soon. Their vines are stretching over the fence in abnormal ways to grasp any light, they’ve lost their final strength and ability to continue on. Somehow, my crops have managed to stay alive. 

I lost my wife years ago. She was the most beautiful being. When I met her, my heart behaved in new ways. I knew instantly that love is beyond real, I was shown it’s the most vibrant truth of all. We had many colourful years. When she passed, I spiralled. I truly believed I could never experience the depths of joy again. Then I began paying closer attention to our growing plants. They shined in the golden rays to my clouded perspective. A hope found me and told me that I too could grow out of the darkness keeping me shallow. The plants reflected my growth, it became a labour of love. 

These days have been worrisome, I’ve been giving half my produce to the neighbours for the passing weeks. Though this dark morning has told me that I can’t give them anymore, as more dark days are upon us. I pace around my kitchen. I glance to my brick fireplace, the orange flames rise into my nervous pupils. I pick up the photo of my wife and I above the roaring flames. I’m reminded of that day, the day we joyously biked to the sea. My rock she was. The day she told me I can do anything I desire, that strength builds with repetition; and resilience is the remedy of life. I can see the rolling hills as we approached the salty air, the best beach it was. Her long silky hair, the ombre from dark chocolate to light hazelnut. Her chiseled freckled face, and her sharp cupids bow that spoke words of pure love. She told me to look out for chickadees, if they chirped; it was her singing to to me through my chilled veins. These dark days have been reminding me how alone I really am. The fire snickers to my dull face. 

I decide to face the outdoors, I walk out of my kitchen and step onto the porch. Creaks from my steps fill the silence before a gust of wind passes by. As I follow the stone path to my yard, I look down to see a trail of plants leading to it. My hurting heart rises into my throat. As I reach the gate, I slowly open it to find a graveyard of my produce. My fruit has shrivelled up. The wheat has drifted far. My leaves have let go into the dirt. Overnight they’ve all perished, and it feels as though a part of me has too. This feeling is all too familiar, the death of something I’ve loved with my entirety; gone. I begin running, I run through tall fields in chaos. I scream out towards the earth,

“Why? Why? You’re killing us!”

I feel anger towards every moment leading me into this pain. I run far. Very far. I eventually fall to my knees at a familiar cliff hanging over the sea. My dry bones chatter as I sob into the parched dirt. I scream into myself for hours. I grow cold, colder than before. All is lost. The darkness gnaws on my brain, I pray for it to swallow me whole. A long silence finds me. I face the hurtful sky, my body sinks into the earth. My sorrow is interrupted when a quiet tune surrounds my ears. I slowly open my eyes in udder disbelief. It’s a distant chickadee’s song. The tune continues brighter and brighter. It’s the most beautiful sound of hope. I feel my wife. I feel her presence give me the warmest hug I could receive. As I lift my head from the dirt, I find the beach below me. Scenes of my wife and I biking come in mind. Suddenly, the hunched-over trees stretch their branches high. The sparse grass begins dancing on their soiled stage. The hiding sun begins to reveal it’s truth, crisp orange rays tower over my wide eyes. Copper light swarms my dishevelled body. The sun says to me,

“Feel me with your being. Open yourself to my long arms. Hope is here, but has never departed. “You can cry, cry out to me.”

I begin to sob, warm truths lie ahead. I walk towards the orange creature, dirt falls from my limbs each step. A grin forms my cheeks as my tears shower the soil. Bursting warmth cleanses my cold body. A scent of citrus threads through the free air. I feel the urge to shed off anything that stops me from loving the extraordinary dream we’re in. I know tomorrow’s harvest will come.