Much had transpired over the years so that there was no longer a reason to question the order of things. It was simply enough to know that it was well with his world and hers. They had taken delight in the everyday so that every moment became a special memory, threaded in the middle of everything that made it tangible enough to stick.
Some people were called to notable discoveries, while others provided the relief that another needed to carry on. It was in this way that the two functioned best. The needing of another to share life with was the basis of knowledge that made their universe work. Just like light and darkness had its place, so did the casualties that bonded its unbroken cords.
There were choirs for singing, but the only songs that meant the most were in the sounds that began from sun up to sun down, echoing the rhythm of the living. There was dancing and music along the Fisherman’s wharf, where lovers played and toiled over the possibilities. And then there were sounds unheard to the casual ear, which echoed against the heartstrings.
When Daniel looked back over the troubles they had endured in New Mexico, he had come to understand much. They had talked about that fateful day in passing, as though it had happened to someone else, like a distant relative or people that they once knew.
Annabelle had said that even the Apache’s had to sleep, and it was then that she intended to make sure they wouldn’t be able to follow after them. The details were as sketchy as an artists trying to make something colorful from charcoal. He reasoned that some things were just too hard for the mind to comprehend it even happened at all, and perhaps they were better off for having left as much unsaid, and among the ashes.
She and Emmett had made it to the rocky ridge, where they had hid out until they saw the Federal Army passing through and could see that Daniel was among them. She knew that there was nothing else she could do, other than to wait out the war, but not in the desert. A few days later they had made it to an overland pass that led onto the U.S. Mail Route, where they were offered the accompaniment of traveling alongside a Butterfield stagecoach to California. So it was in this way that Annabelle and Emmett had survived that fateful day, as he had survived the war, but they had found their way back together nonetheless, even though he had crossed the western transcontinental divide again to get there.
Sometimes they spent the evenings along the coast line, where they had recited their wedding vows, and other times they rested as one under the shade bonnet of a tree in the backyard. The things which came to mind the most, was in comparing what was resplendent in the others eyes. At times they were amused at the benefit of strangers, but it never seemed more commonplace than in their home. It all had the affect of a subtle garden, where the roses still gather, in spite of their many thorns to make an elegant bouquet.
Among the images he endeared, was a sense of wisdom that came to him when he was alone and had the notion to journal his impressions. He had journeyed the way most thinkers laid their plans, but what ended up mattering the most was altogether different than what he had set out to accomplish. What he had gained could be measured only in hindsight, for it was there that he laid his claim.
It’s in the one thing that holds you captive for that moment, when the breath of life comes and blows upon you, winds so strong they could carry you away, but they’re soft like velvet and gentle to the touch, the way a mountain impresses the senses to go higher, to see above the fortress and gather up together on the other side. A day in disbelief, a day suspended, a day joined by the hand of another.., until the day ends.
About the Author
Anita Melillo lives in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, Tony. In addition to writing, she has a nursing career, and both she and her husband are volunteer firefighters in the town they reside in. Anita also has a great love for nature, off-roading on forest trails, motorcycle riding with her spouse, and enjoys traveling. One of her greatest passions in life has always been writing.
Her inspiration for writing, “Ford At Valverde,” derived from her love of history and the civil war era. She was raised in the South and has always had a fascination with other places, traditions, and cultures. This work embodies her deep sense of attempting to resonate with other readers desires for self exploration and adventure, while reaching for a more meaningful life.
She has also written another fictional novel, entitled, “The Great Empty,” which is an outback adventure and a coming of age story. There will be a sequel to this available soon entitled, “Villages North of Here.” She is presently at work on another novel, which is a psycological suspense thriller.
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