Marigolds Dancing Beneath the Aurora Borealis

Snow sparkles under the dazzling display of the Aurora Borealis. The landscape before me looks untouched; pristine. It stretches out for miles without sight of a footprint or figure to mar the beauty, and I revel in this moment of tranquility.

A green light appears in my peripheral. As I turn to look, I witness as it begins to pulse on the horizon. Curious, I glance at the picturesque view in front of me with a guilty regret before I head towards the pulsing green light.

I fail to notice the cold or weight of the snow clinging to my boots during my trek. The closer I come towards it, the faster the light seems to blink. By the time I am nearly on top of it, the green flashes have begun a strobe light effect. The source is some sort of beacon, though who or what it signals escapes me. Hanging loosely on it, however, is a crown of bright orange flowers. Marigolds. Fresh ones, bright as they come.

‘Odd,’ I muse, reaching for the crown to examine it. As I do, I notice footprints in the snow. I look around me, but all there is is me, the beacon, the crown, and the footprints leading away from the light. The tracks themselves raise more questions, as despite the snow, they are of bare feet. Furthermore, there seem to be no tracks leading to the spot - only away from it.

I stand dumbfounded for several minutes as I try to make sense of all the oddities. Eventually, I decide to follow the mysterious barefoot trail.

The tracks show no hesitation. Whoever left them knew where they were going. It crosses my mind that this could be an elaborate trap of some sort, but I am more curious than wary. I continue following for several miles, until the tracks head into a deeply forested area.

‘How far do these prints go?’ I wonder, again questioning the intent of whoever has caught my attention. I stop at the edge of the forest; a forbidding fortress of pine. I sigh, the sound deafeningly loud after my silent march so far. I’ve already followed the trail this far, though, and my interest is peaked. For a minute I stand and listen, trying to determine what lies within the dense dark of the pines. Then, I follow the trail in.

At last, I find the person leaving the barefoot prints in the snow. She twirls within a small clearing in an elegant dress of Marigolds, her long, golden hair flying around her with her graceful movements. She hums something cheerfully as she dances, and I watch silently in awe. Above, the Northern lights continue their brilliant display. The woman does not stop her dance or humming as she spies me just within sight, but she slows - a wide smile reaching both deep, green eyes.

‘Caroline?’ I wonder. Could it be?

“Jacob! Oh, and you brought my flower crown! I hoped you would bring it with you!” she chirps. Shellshocked, I gawk as she prances over; it is Caroline. Gently, she removes the crown from my lax grip and places it atop her head. I can’t believe she is standing before me.

She is stunning. Though they are sheer, the dress bears long sleeves. Marigolds as real and fresh as those of her crown adorn the full length of the dress. For a moment, I forget about the snow covering the ground - Caroline in her Marigolds reminds me fully of summer’s warmth. Like a summertime enchantress, beckoning me to bask in her radiant embrace.

“Jacob?” she inquires, her smile fading somewhat as she tries to figure out why I remain unresponsive. I swallow, my throat suddenly so, so dry.

“I’ve missed you. So much,” I choke out. Her smile returns, bright, comforting, and welcoming as ever.

“I’ve missed you too,” she replies softly. Then, with a smirk and giggle, she runs off - gliding over the snow like a sunbeam. I rush after, following the now familiar barefoot tracks. Caroline is quick, however, and I lose sight of her within minutes.

I slow to a walk as I near a frozen pond, mind reeling with questions and emotions. Caroline and I haven’t so much as seen one another in….

‘Too long,’ I think sourly. I’ve truly missed her for years.

Caught up in my reminiscence, I’m not fully paying attention to where I’m going. I lose my footing along a steep part of the bank and tumble onto the frozen surface of the pond. For a few long moments, I am stunned by the pain wracking through me from the impact, but fear quickly overwhelms me when I hear a distinct sound.

CRACK!

The ice below me gives way without further warning, plunging me into the dark, icy depths. I flounder beneath the ice; though a bit disoriented, I can feel the unbroken sheet of ice against my back. Frantically, I search for the hole made where I fell through. Then, once I do, the swim over is horrifically slow. Already a weak swimmer, once my limbs become weighted by my thick, wet clothing and sluggish with the unrelenting cold, they seem to take ages to propel me to the broken ice. I feel my strength draining rapidly, and I only manage to pull myself out enough to take a deep, gasping breath before I succumb into an unconscious blackness.

When I wake, I lie on an old, uncomfortably hard couch. A fire burns in the nearby wood-burning stove and I am nearly crushed beneath the weight of a large stack of blankets piled on me. Fragrances of flowers and herbal tea greet me, as well as the warm, toothless smile of the old woman humming and knitting in the rocker beside me. I study her; even toothless, the smile is familiar. The long hair is grey, and the eyes a deep green. Her cozy sweater bears the image of a bright orange Marigold.

“Caroline?” I ask, confused. Softly, the old woman smiles at me, reaching out an old, gnarled hand to grasp mine. I stare; the hand she grasps - mine - is equally wrinkled and spotted with old age.

“It’s okay, dear. I’m here,” she says gently. A tea pot whistles on the stove, and she slowly gets up and makes her way to fetch it and prepare tea.

I take the chance in her absence to look around from my vantage on the couch. I am held helplessly beneath the weight of the blankets, unable to remove them. What I can see are a multitude of pictures: Caroline in her Marigold dress and crown - radiant in youth, several of her and what I slowly recognize as myself in my younger years, and then progressively older and older versions of - us? Medical books and bills are stacked high on the small table between the couch and the chair Caroline had previously occupied.

‘What is going on?’ I wonder, utterly confused. ‘Wasn’t I a young man before I fell in the pond?’

Caroline reappears, sporting two cups of steaming tea. Slowly, she begins peeling the blankets back so I can move, then gingerly hands me one of the drinks.

“Careful, dear - it’s quite hot,” she informs me. I nod slowly. She studies my face with growing concern.

“Are you... confused again, dear?” At my slow nod, she nods back and gently squeezes my hand. We sit in silence, slowly sipping our tea. I set my cup down and as I place my hand back to the couch, my fingers brush against something. Carefully, I pull the object out from the mountain of blankets. It is Caroline’s crown of Marigolds, now faded, dusty, and falling apart.

“Oh, Jacob! Is that where that old thing got off to?” she asks as she reaches for the headpiece. I hand it to her carefully and watch her as she examines it fondly.

‘It has always been her favorite,’ I think, startled by this sudden knowledge.

“Do you remember when you came to me after all those years apart?” Caroline asks. I shake my head no, frustrated. Why can’t I remember things? What’s happened to us? Her smile grows a little tight with pain, but she explains, “You once had a dream, many years after we parted. You dreamed that I was dancing beneath the Northern lights, in the snow, barefoot and dressed in Marigolds. At the end of it, you fell into a frozen pond, trapped beneath the ice. The next day, supposedly, you sought me out at my flower shop. Do you remember the flower shop?” Again, I shake my head. “Well, it was a tiny little shop in town. Had all sorts of vases painted with anything and everything: bulls, horses, wolves…”

A sudden flash of - memory? - hits me, and I add slowly, “Corn, pear trees, oranges….” More images flood my mind, each more vivid and laced with a sense of familiarity. “And I brought you this crown; the one you had worn to our prom and given to me at the end of the night. I saw it in the dream, and I had to see you. Had to return your crown.”

Caroline smiles widely as I begin to recollect the rekindling of our relationship. I grip her hand and grin back. We had married. We housed animal after animal, neither interested in children. And we had grown old together. Then….

And then I had started forgetting things. Little by little, bit by bit, I had worn away. Realizing in this moment just how much I had forgotten - and will again - fills me with a heavy heart. My beloved wife reads my face, knows my pain, and comes to sit next to me on the couch. We continue holding hands and drinking our tea, first in silence and then chatting; remembering.

At the end of the evening, as she begins to rise to go to bed, I grasp Caroline’s hand once more. I fear what I will forget by morning as my mind begins to fade back into a foggy oblivion, and I have so much to tell her. I raise her hand to my lips and give it a lingering kiss. Caroline turns to look at me as I begin to speak.

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you when I don’t… remember. I want you to know before I forget again - you are my summer days. My Marigolds dancing under the Northern lights. My sunbeam lighting up that barefoot path through the snow and forest. My beacon in the midst of the glow of the solar winds. I’d follow you anywhere; always and forever. I hope you know that.”

Both Caroline and I choke back tears, but I am weary and must lay down to rest. She checks the fire, covers me up with that mountain of blankets, and gives me an equally lingering kiss on the forehead. She runs her frail fingers over my head soothingly and smiles.

“It is hard to let you go day by day. But we can both take solace; every time you do remember, you always tell me those beautiful things - just like that. And in those moments, you are mine again, just as you were. I love you, Jacob; always and forever.”

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