GenePoool.com Fiction

Idyll

I remember the first time I saw her.

There is this magnificent spot I discovered some time ago on one of my many walks. I confess to being utterly enthralled with every aspect of the countryside in which I find myself after many years in the choke-hold dungeon of metropolitan life, and this one spot is by far my favorite, if only for the sheer breadth of variety before me. From my vantage point beneath one, beautifully misshapen tree, the entire valley opens up below. Just beyond the crest of the ridge lies a booming river, and on some mornings a fine, rising mist catches the sunlight, transforming the scene into a golden extension of the sun itself. At the bottom of my hill is an apple orchard, wonderfully chaotic in its arrangement; a proud counter-point to the rigorous criss-cross of makind's imposed order.

I can sit thoughtlessly at my favorite spot for hours, watching the shadows shrink away from the morning sun, then lengthen in flight, then rise triumphant against the feeble moonlight. And at night, the stars. The cruelest trick the city can play on a man is taking away the stars. They are there for us to see them.

I saw her for the first time one early morning while resting on my perch atop the world. I was taken with her immediately. She was traveling with a group of friends, and I don't think, on that first day, she even noticed me. I drank her in so thoroughly it felt invasive; but how utterly charming it was to be so bold as to ingrain every aspect of her in my memory, and yet have her so blissfully unaware. It was intoxicating.

She was a local; I could tell at once. There seemed, in her, a harmoniousness with nature of which I could only dream, and perhaps that was what drew me to her so completely.

I knew then, I had to have her.

But for months I could do no more than court her with my eyes. I lacked the courage. Until one day, quite suddenly, she looked up. Her deep black eyes locked on mine and I, quite simply, fell right into them.

I followed her home that very evening. I knew I had found in her exactly what I needed, and more, she saw in me the same.

I am not proud of my decision to sneak into her chamber, but I could not bear even the briefest exchange of pleasantries with her family. I realize I may appear unseemly to resort to such tactics, and I confess it is the only thing of which I am genuinely ashamed, as I consider myself a gentleman in all respects.

But no matter. We met, and with scarcely a word, she consented to give herself to me.

It was glorious.

And then, complete for the first time, I gazed again into her bottomless eyes and confessed my love.

"BAAAAAAAAA!" she replied.

Truer words were never spoken.

© 2000, Gene Doucette