Acacia and other Small Miracles

He might have thought he was picking up just a coat or a hat, or perhaps an umbrella as the rain outside was growing stronger and stronger as we sat in that house, talking as the candle grew smaller and smaller, until there was no light left in the wooden room, in a house made of wood. We both knew that it was time for him to leave, and as the lights grew dimmer there was so much more to see, so much more to feel, in these last moments.

These last moments arranged themselves in front of us on the parlor table, like delicate objects brought back from far, far away, from places that involve animal transport and days of walking on foot. It was inconceivable to imagine his parting, and in the same moment it was sitting there on the table with all the beautiful things, lumpy and stiff, like death waiting at the door. The last flicker of light married the candle to the stars outside my door, half ajar, half of his body already gone, the other half still there. Still there.

And there, in an instant, I wished that he would never leave that room, that we could build a garden there, tear away the floorboards and find earth, find water, find all that we needed, right there. But I knew his journey was long and the night unforgiving. It was time. The departure caressed us ever so softly, little was said, gestures were sparse and few, he simply took up his things and bid me adieu. What went unnoticed in his passing was a tender beating heart, delicate and eternal, hidden in his jacket pocket. Between a tobacco tin and a stained scarf, it was offered without question or demand.

There was no exchange of words nor promises to keep. He closed the door behind him and melted into the night. Only the Good Lord knows how I went to sleep that night, knowing the morning would come to find me in the arms of Heaven, limp and free. Breath became my lifeblood, filling in the spaces left behind, the echoes of pumping and stirring around the body. I would make do. It was the least I could do.

It was a time when men were men and women were women and to sit in the parlor until the small hours meant a great deal. To sit in the parlor and feel that nothing else could ever matter as much as this moment meant a great deal. And one didn't fight that. Once something was known, it was known forever. There was no questioning. And I knew. Death did not scare me, as I had already lived a thousand lives that evening. His gift was my life. It was the least I could do.

Morning came with a warm breeze borrowed from a summer's day. It was late autumn, and the birds had all but left the homestead. I woke up to the sound of whistling, and realized that I was not in my bed. "It's the best time of year to plant evergreens, and so you see I reckon we can do with some acacia. See you let it take root and let nature do the rest." He brushed the sweat from his brow and knelt down to kiss my forehead. "You just get up slowly now, it must have been a long night."