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Ophuls
put a hand to his mouth and dared not move. It was indeed as per his dream, and
the paradox astounded him. He had seen this come to pass in night time
visitations, yet he had here, moments ago, asked for it to be made reality.
What had come first? Seeing, or asking? He clutched at his armchair and then
looked down at it in astonishment. His hand encountered wood rather than
fabric…he was seated in a worn rocking chair and under it sweet grass tempted
feet into nakedness. Without thinking he kicked his sandals off and squashed
his toes into the unfamiliar coolness. It was pure bliss and a sigh of pleasure
escaped him.
A massive
oak threw dappled shadows across his amber robe and he looked up, afraid now to
miss any detail of this amazing metamorphosis, and encountered the glowing
emerald of a newly-leafed tree, the rustling like music in his ears. A tear
slid over his cheek and then there was more and he wondered if his heart could
stand it. A carpet of daisies, white, pink and yellow, waved invitingly in a
cool breeze all the way to the water’s edge and he felt the gentle caress of
moving air against his cheeks.
No matter
how long ago the loss, no matter how many generations had passed, some things
could never be wholly forgotten. Ophuls, sitting there entranced, amazed and
humbled, remembered the things of a sunlit world as if he had walked it only
the day before, and he knew he would hanker for it with a sadness and passion
for the rest of his days. He would never, not ever, forget these moments of
pure joy.
He held
his hands out, fingers splayed to catch the breeze, and laughed, enthralled,
astounded, happy and free. Sunlight sparkled on the water, hurting his eyes,
but he wanted it to go on forever.
Netherworld
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