The Peaceful
Walk
by Ian Curtress
He had started out early to
make the most of what promised to be a hot day.
He felt fresh and ready for the long walk ahead
of him, a walk he had not planned but he somehow
knew he must complete.
The first part was very familiar to him, bringing
back memories of the first real walk he had taken
with his Wife to be.
More years than he wanted to remember.
How he misses her. Two long years since she had
passed away. As if it were yesterday.
The air was so cool and fresh he knew he would
complete the walk.
That avenue of trees he had always marvelled at
looked even more impressive.
He imagined them watching over him like old
friends. Well he had known them a long time. The
oak over there had their initials carved on it.
Hoped they survive for others to wonder
That old barn in the field on the hill. It had
been a broken icon as long as he could remember.
Please don’t restore it.
It was after around ten miles he stopped for a
rest.
Remembered the hollow tree trunk at the edge of
that copse where the two littles ones had played.
Little ones! Look at them now. Grown up with
little ones of their own.
Took a drink of water and smiled to himself.
Would this be the last big walk he would make on
his own.
Looked forward to the lake just eight miles ahead.
They loved that. Skimming stones. Pretending he
couldn’t do it to make them laugh. How great
it would be to have just one more hour as it was
then.
And there it was, as inviting as ever. A seat had
been placed in an ideal position I wonder who was
thoughtful enough to do that he pondered.
There was a welcome breeze coming off the water
and he decided to have a sandwich. He could have
so easily fallen asleep but knew he mustn’t.
However, it was an hour before he continued his
walk. Legs reminding him of age.
Good timing, poppy field at its best
What is it about poppies that have that special
charm. Individually they are pretty but en masse
they are spectacular.
There seemed not to be an inch between them this
year. He paused to enjoy.
Remembered that lovely picture he took of June,
his Wife, in the middle of them.
Must press on he said, the next three miles are
quite hilly and legs already feeling heavy.
The peak was a wonderful viewpoint.
The two benches had been there as long as he
could remember. He scanned the horizon to find
anything new.
A small housing estate didn’t sit right
somehow but would no doubt improve with maturity.
His mind rambled over their first house, sorry,
flat. Looking back he could see why they were so
affectionate, couldn’t get away from each
other.
Smiled to himself. Finding out about each other,
magic times.
Then the family home they made in their roomy
cottage. The walls gave off an aura of happiness
and contentment by a family blessed with love and
care.
The path now had changed from the usual one and
his footing a little unsure.
He walked cautiously for about a mile, and
although never having walked this path, he felt
comfortable.
The path seemed to know where it was going he
chuckled to himself. Strangely, he seemed to be
walking more easily although obviously tired.
He hoped he wasn’t becoming dehydrated as he
thought for a moment his hand was suddenly in his
Wifes reassuring clasp.
Almost real. Had a long drink.
Now he really had to accept he was fatigued and
was aware of the need for a quiet rest. He was
approaching a picture postcard village and was
relieved.
He hoped he wasn’t lightheaded but all was
cool, soft, peaceful but deserted
Then walking into the small flower filled square,
a fountain sparkling in the sunlight, he noticed
an elderly man sitting on beautifully carved
bench.
Approaching him he asked, I have walked so many
miles today can you tell me where I might find a
bed to rest my head?
The grey haired gentleman looked up with a kindly
smile and said I’m afraid I cannot help you
as I have just arrived
I too am dead.
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