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View From The Garden (standard:romance, 1016 words)
Author: CyranoAdded: Mar 16 2012Views/Reads: 1406/822Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Another reverie with Lori. Understanding where we came from, how we traveled, and what we've become. Loved.

Far beneath the bluff the ocean crashes and tumbles ashore like a
restless spirit. I've always been drawn to the sea, not just in my life 
but in my writings, using the lighthouse as my signature; a beacon 
shining out periodically. Dawn to dusk is my favorite time to stand 
here and gaze toward the dependable momentary flash that is Point 

“Mr. Frank...” This voice is never distant. 


“Help me with the gate, Mr. Frank.” 

My home is a grand sight – the redness of its bricks, the yellowness of
the light through the window, and the love it shelters inside. Stepping 
from the grass onto the gravel driveway I tell Lori to push. The gate 
swings wide and her fragile hand finds mine immediately. The sudden joy 
is almost painful. Almost as if the warmth takes me back to my own 
childhood. I was a pirate then, going away, my skull and crossbones 
flying and it was always my very own glad adventure. 

“What have you been writing about today, Mr. Frank?” She asks - matter
of factly. 

Before answering I think about her question. Writing goes beyond just
the documenting of facts. It goes to who I am and why I do the things I 
do? I write to put flesh on my bones. 

“Well, let me think, today I wrote about a magical Unicorn.” 

“You did?” 

We reach the rickety old bench. I sit. Lori first looks up at my face,
then down at my crossed legs. It's a clear signal. I uncross them and 
she sprawls onto my lap, pulling herself upright, tiny hand touching my 

“Does the Unicorn have a name?” She continues. 


“I like that name, Mr. Frank.” The distant flash in the sky catches in
the cast of her eye. Forever. 

“I had a father called Daniel.” 

“Had? Lori.” 

“He died.” She drops her chin, swinging her legs more rhythmically. “He
lives out there now...” she says, “...way out there.” Not pointing, 
just looking. 

“Maybe...with Daniel?” I urge for comforts sake. 

“Mr. Frank, you know Unicorns live on the land, silly bean.” And she
floats wonder into a smile between us. 

“Not Daniel. He lives in the ocean, its where he becomes the Narwhal.” 

“He does?” 


Her legs cease their swinging. 

There are those who find love, maybe not here by the sea, perhaps in
restaurants or an office block and these people give each other a ring 
to kiss. I remember a time when all I had was me, shabby most times, 
dreaming all the time. It's not much but when I find her she'll know; 
that's what I told myself. Anything to keep my empty heart open knowing 
I would one day find her, perhaps on an Alitalia flight to Rome, or 
having her hair done in the window of a New York coiffeur, or riding a 
rickshaw in Rangoon. 

“I miss him still.” 

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