Pneuma

The Breathe of Life

My photo one foggy evening from my porch when I lived in the woods in Michigan.

“My love waits there in San Francisco
Above the blue and windy sea
When I come home to you, San Francisco
Your golden sun will shine for me.”
[lyric from (I Left My Heart) In San Francisco by Cory & Cross]

The wind was gaining strength as the winter afternoon waned. They were forecasting thirty foot waves on Lake Superior overnight. Stuart stood in the kitchen space and watched the maples swaying through the big upper window, dancing in the low western light of the setting sun. The music station on the tv was streaming oldies; Stuart’s mind kept slipping into the past. The dancing trees and the musical strains mesmerized him with long past memories. The roaring wind carried him along the ethereal pathways to his youth.

Another new year. How far away were those days…so much time gone. A log popped in the fire and snapped the spell. He took a sip but his coffee had gone cold.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t really for the single or the unmatched, the widowed or recently divorced. It was a night for couples or the hope of a successful date. Stuart had settled into bed around 11:00 with quiet music. He remembered rolling over not long past midnight and wishing the world a mumbled “Happy New Year!” before drifting back to sleep.

New Year’s Day was for remembering, and taking stock, and pondering on the arriving fresh cycle of weeks and months and events on the calendar…riding the wheel as it resumed the cycle…December to January to February and beyond…lengthening days stretching towards the Summer Solstice…Epiphany, Candlemas, Ash Wednesday, Easter…by Pentecost the weather was warm, the days were long, and lazy and green again.

When one is in the Autumn of one’s years the cycle spins so much faster and we drop more and more friends along the way. And the wind keeps blowing, whispering the names and places and events we’ve collected.

He let the dog out one last time for the night, put a couple more logs on the fire, and climbed into bed to read. Shadow joined him and curled up against his legs. He tried to focus on Brontë’s prose but was fast realizing that the novel was very different from Olivier’s Heathcliff chasing Cathy’s ghost on the moor. The creaking trees and whistling wind, the warm flannel and snoring dog…before long the book dropped and Stuart slept.

He snapped awake and found himself standing at the front door. The fire was blazing behind him and yet outside was surprisingly bright…full moon bright. He opened the door and walked out onto the porch. The night was still…the wind was gone. He moved to the top of the stairs and saw the sky was full of red and green aurora borealis shimmering and swaying in the silence.

He saw him standing at the foot of the driveway waiting patiently with that impish grin that never failed to stir his heart. The snow crunched with each step. As Stuart approached he extended his hand waiting. Stuart paused and looked back; Shadow was a silhouette in the window watching. He waved and turned back down the drive towards his friend. He took his hand and squeezed. The missing years disappeared and they embraced.

Inside, Shadow sat up in bed and stared. He let out a whine, unsure if Stuart was even breathing he seemed so deeply asleep.