A child, alone, sitting on a rock at the edge of the sea, on a cold, lonely fall morning
A boy or a girl, from such a distance it is not clear
Pale skin, flushed pink from the harshness of the wind
Little feet dangling idly in the water, water that is inevitably bitingly icy
Does the child feel no cold?
From above, a hair-raising clap of thunder slices through the silence
Sudden rain fall bears down
Flashes of lightening strike down from Heaven, stabbing into the sea at some distant point
My heart quickens and hands tremble. Yet the child remains quite still.
Does the child feel no fear?
I begin to draw nearer, calling out to the child, but my voice is lost in the malevolent wind
My footprints are swallowed up by sand as I break out in a run
The child begins to laugh, jeering at something I cannot see
Something that must be far out to sea, for surely that is where the child points
I approach and the child turns its angelic face toward me at last
Eerily familiar sea-blue eyes stare back into my own
Her’s is a face not seen in years, forgotten in a constant parade of change, time, happiness and regret
I am close enough to extend my hand, willing the girl to run with me to safety, before she is lost for good
But she only smiles, sending a pang of through my core
And she points across the sea, across the angry waves and menacing clouds.
She points to a point on the horizon, so faint I may not have noticed it at all without her guidance.
The faintest orange glow of the morning sun, rising slowly from beneath the churning seas and screaming skies
I blink, and the child is gone.