(that goes for grown-ups too)
The joyous springtime birdsong and the gentle sunrays making their way through the fresh green treetops were lost on Miros Kovac, as he walked slowly yet decidedly down the lane that led to the cemetery. He was too absorbed in thought for that. Every year he made this trip at the beginning of May, yet he had never gotten used to the emotions that went with it. This year was no exception. In fact, it felt even stronger now. However, this time Miros sensed there was a purpose to it.
Even now, as Eva sat in the roadside diner on Route 40, the recollection of her last day at work brought an ear-to-ear grin to her face. On the day of her thirty-fifth birthday, she had walked into her managing director’s office and handed him her resignation from her job as creative director of one of L.A.’s most renowned advertizing agencies. Doug just stood there gobsmacked and took the news from his most valued and successful employee without the slightest hint of emotion. He had not seen Eva’s announcement coming and was too busy processing the news to feel anything yet. Fifteen years of working closely together had come to an abrupt end.
“And stay out of the tall grass, Jude. It’s crawling with snakes there,” Jude’s grandmother warned.
“Don’t worry, Nana,” Jude shouted, slamming the screen door shut behind him, as he ran out into the backyard.
Nana smiled with a hint of melancholy. She was proud of the way her six year old grandson was taking his loss. It was almost a year ago when his parents – Nana’s son and daughter-in-law – were killed in a car accident. Soon afterwards, Jude had moved from the city to live with her and Grandpa on their cattle station near Mount Archer. At first, she had been afraid that Jude would shut himself off, but the move to the country proved to be the perfect remedy. Jude had found solace in Nature.
Sunlight flooded the room and enveloped nineteen year old Katrina and her grandmother in a golden hue. They were sitting at Grandma’s dining room table browsing through one of her old photo albums, when Katrina pointed out a faded photo of a young girl and boy holding hands.
She is my friend
As the late summer sun rose, its rays slowly filtering through the misty haze, Benedicto climbed steadily up the steep, rocky slope in the foothills just outside his village. After walking for an hour or so, the nonagenarian stopped to catch his breath. He looked into the distance to take in the magnificent view before him. While he rubbed at his grey, gristly beard, his mind wandered off to the days when he was a young boy.