Memories of Gold

Clara stared out at the skyline as she sighed heavily. Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She placed the phone to her ear to hear the news that she knew as coming; but wasn’t quite ready to hear.

“I’m sorry Clara, she’s gone.”

She slumped back, shaking her head fighting the burning feeling of her eyes filling with tears. Clara hadn’t spoken to her mother for several years, not since she left home. Clara wanted more than she thought her mom had to offer. She wanted the concrete jungle, the place that dreams and stars are born. Growing up out in the country as a young woman she always dreamed of being in the big city and the life that came with it.

She never understood as a teenager what it was that her mother loved about the cottage life so much. She wanted the excitement, hustling and bustling of people, the sounds of cars and of life constantly going outside of her window. Thinking back, the last time that she saw her mother was the day that she left. The heartbreak, but the look of pride on her mothers face. Her mother knew that she was going on for big things, and wanted to share that with her. But as life carried on and with her career flourishing, Clara never really took the time to look back, dissolving the relationship that the two had.

Clara lay in bed that night after the news came to her, staring at her ceiling. The world around her grew dark with tears streaming down her cheeks. She prayed this was all just a bad dream.

Within the next few passing days, Clara knew that the difficult day was soon approaching when she would have to return back to the cottage to clean up and go through everything.

Clara packed up the car, closed the driver door, set the radio and the car began rolling to her destination. Pulling up into the driveway, the willows bowed, welcoming her home. She slowed to a stop. The cottage lay on a small piece of land out in the countryside. Tall trees framing an open field laying out of the front window, she could see the morning dew in her mind, and the morning haze each day she would go out on the front porch. Running through the garden with the butterflies, and planting marigolds. They were always her mothers favorite. The front screen door swung open wafting the smell of dust and her mothers perfume, which lingered in the air; lilacs and vanilla. Clara ran her hands along the walls of the old wooden structure. Following the hallway, she came to the back door. The garden remained as it always had. Visions of herself running as a young girl. The sound of her mother calling her to come back inside once the sun was setting over the horizon. Together they pushed the soul of this home into the earth. Only leaving the blooms of the beloved marigolds exposed.

As Clara stared out once again to the sea of gold before her, she wept. She wept for what she left behind, what she never returned back to when she had the chance, for the woman who loved her and the little time that she allowed herself to have with her.

Clara stepped out onto the back porch, sunlight enveloping her skin with a warm embrace. She sat in the field of gold. Looking up at the clouds passing by, and the soft breeze brushing against her cheek, she was with her mother once again.