HONEY BUN, SUGAR PLUM

The mid-morning January sun was bearing down on Jemma. It was unusually warm today and her summer hat couldn't help the beads of perspiration from dripping down into the garden bed she was furiously jabbing at with a trowel.

She tried to keep her mind off things, trying not to look at the house across the street.

Why me? Why Jacob? Why not…

She put an end to her thoughts abruptly and continued raking the soil to plant Gerberas.The Buttercups were blooming and were Jacob's favorite. He and his friend Brian had planted these last spring for a school project. She ran her fingertips wistfully across each bloom as though caressing her dear boy.

Olivia had told her they would be arriving around noon. She abandoned the half dug trench, gathered the tools and walked hurriedly to the shed.

With moist eyes, she entered the cool confines of her kitchen and sat at the table, sipping an iced lemonade. It calmed her nerves.

She saw Olivia's car pulling into their driveway. Brian got out the back seat, gazing wistfully at Jemma's house. Her resolve crumbled and wild sobs racked her body.

Jacob and Brian, best buddies for fifteen years, went to the same school and class. They promised to stay through thick and thin, even signing up for organ donation campaigns held in the town. Both the mothers were aghast but in their hearts knew they had raised good boys who would one day turn out into fine gentlemen.

Everything was hunky-dory in their world until casualty struck.

A freak shootout at the school claimed many children while Brian, Jacob and a few others were rushed to intensive care with grave injuries. Tense moments later the doctor approached them and gave them the news of Jacob's passing and if they could use his heart as a transplant to save Brian's life.

Numb with grief, Jemma had signed on the dotted line…

And today, Brian was walking on his feet holding her son's precious heart. A knock on the door snapped her out of her reverie. Olivia stood with a box of honey-cinnamon buns, once a favorite of Jacob’s and Brian with his hand outstretched holding a bouquet of buttercups, eyes downcast.

The moment was frozen in time and Jemma made the first move. Hugging Brian close, she felt Jacob's heart beat inside. A steady beat which said, “Mom, I'm right here”...

Her boy lived on through his friend. With this solace and relief washing over her, she ushered them both inside for tea.

When it was time to leave, Brian stopped by the fringes of buttercups. Jacob's project had won them a prize at the gardening activity at school.

Seeing the half dug trench, and the packets of seeds lying forgotten, he rushed to the shed and returned with the trowel.

Getting down on his knees, he carefully planted the Gerbera, giving Jemma a reassuring nod.

Out of nowhere, there was a slight drizzle of summer rain and a rainbow appeared in the sky like a heavenly smile.

(Word Count : 500)

©️ Sangeetha Kamath

Pic Courtesy:Image by Petra from Pixabay

Comments

Moxie N' Mettle

MOXIE N' METTLE In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck, There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage, Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation. Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

CLOGYRNACH ( Day 8, Soul Craft Poetry)

CLOGYRNACH How time flies, they grow up too soon When they'd bawled you'd shown them the moon Your mirror image Feels she's in a cage Stomping rage! 'Teen Typhoon' Pic Courtesy: Soul Craft ©️ Sangeetha Kamath Clogyrnach, Welsh poetic form is typically a six-line syllabic stanza with an ab rhyme scheme: Line 1: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 2: 8 syllables with an a rhyme Line 3: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 4: 5 syllables with a b rhyme Line 5: 3 syllables with a b rhyme Line 6: 3 syllables with an a rhyme.

JOURNEY MOST TREACHEROUS ( DAY 23, LETTER J)

CHAPTER 22 JOURNEY MOST TREACHEROUS The plan was set. With a departure set before daybreak they would easily avoid the pig patrols, reaching Mistwood Shadow Glade before the Mighty Boar knew their agenda. As they filed out to grab minimal winks of sleep that wouldn’t come, the crystal apple sat alone in the dark, throwing tiny red constellations across the ceiling in the library. Watching. Waiting. They packed ammo for the battle of the ages. "Mistwood Shadow Glade is three days away. Day one: Cross the dell before twilight or the pig scouts sniff out your wake. Day Two: Skirt around the Bone Fields. Better still, avoid it altogether! We take shortcuts through low lying rivers. Water hides our scent. Day three: Reach the fringes of the Mistwood Shadow Glade. Keep the shards from getting activated along the way. No fires after dusk. ...

WABI SABI

I sit amidst and look around the gentle mess of an assortment of art, surrounded by half-finished paintings, worn brushes, and scraps of paper filled with scribbled thoughts for my journal, I find comfort in remembering Wabi Sabi. This ancient Japanese philosophy has become my guiding light, illuminating the beauty in the incomplete. I recall the first time I stumbled upon Wabi Sabi. I was wandering through a local art gallery, and a particular piece caught my eye. It was a simple, rustic tea bowl with a jagged, irregular crack running down its side and a broken handle. To me, it seemed imperfect, flawed to the bone even. But as I stood there, taking in the subtle nuances of the piece, I began to see its beauty. The crack wasn't a mistake; it was a part of the bowl's history, of its well loved use and a faded look as well–a result of being passed down generations as a sentimental heirloom. That moment marked the beginning of my journey with Wabi Sabi. As I embrace Wabi Sabi...

GATES TO THE VAULT( DAY 24, LETTER G)

CHAPTER 23 GATES TO THE VAULT Three days of trudging, trekking and aching muscles later, the cozy, sunlit, honeyed woods of Bramble Shire were miles behind them. At the edge of the deep, fog covered forest, a wispy figure appeared before them –The Guardian Maiden, Blaire barricading their way. "What do you seek in Mistwood Shadow Glade?" Her voice was the soft breeze that twirled around them. Ethereal! Hopper stepped forward gingerly. "The Locke Jewel. The last shard to piece together the Starwood Crystal. Where’s it hidden?" Blaire pursed her lips. "I’ll trade, as you know. Tell me your deepest secret. One you’d kill to hide." Chipper tensed. Hopper hesitated. There was a lot at stake, when she prodded, “The Pigs are closing in. Time is of the essence here, Rabbit ! If you don’t choose, you lose." Papa Koala warned, " ...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog