Sunshine and the moon's shadow

Shadows crept along weathered floorboards, inching towards the old man that remembered. He smiled as he closed his eyes and followed the warmth of the sun into a quiet lull with recollections of a time back when...

My Sunshine, he thought as his trembling hand snatched a memory from the air. She always was so beautiful... painted in red. From the red ribbon that tied her long blonde tresses in a precarious ponytail, to the red lipstick she loved to wear when in the old barn and by his side.

That old barn with the cow and an udder so full of milk, mooing as if demanding the farmer to make haste and get the job done. Impatient and nagging, the cow always calmed once the farmer's hands clamped down on her teats, while the sound of the stream of warm milk echoed throughout the stable.

Sunshine would watch from afar, afraid the cow would sense her fear and kick it away. The farmer always encouraged her to get closer, but Sunshine knew the cow did not like competition for his attention, so every morning she let them have their time together and did not intrude. The cow often acknowledged this with a swing of her tail as she walked past Sunshine after milking, satisfied with the time spent quietly with the farmer she loved.

Hens clucked in a coop just outside the barn, keeping eggs warm and safe from predators. But Sunshine's hands were quick, and the hens were not as broody as what she was, so twice a day she would collect three or four. She always showed the farmer her bounty, wearing a smile so wide that he was unable to resist a touch. So twice a day for every day with the unveiling of what Sunshine called the hen's gifts to them, the farmer would kiss her lips then her forehead in awe of her smiling gift to him.

The dogs came and went over the years, each ones' passing breaking Sunshine's heart more and more. The cats played in the barn and a new litter would often find the touch of Sunshine's hands, but they too eventually faded into the hidden chapters of the barn's stories.

The smell of fresh hay and the sound of laughter as their own children played bounced off walls and filled her heart with love and fear. Letting go and pulling back was always hard for her, but the farmer held her as she held her sons and when they were too big for her to hold, he held her tighter still.

The waning and waxing of the moon etched lines in their faces and began to stoop their bodies, yet they looked forward to viewing the fullness of her from the haystacks and open doors of the old barn each month. Then one day the moon set her gaze on the farmer and his wife and her shadow stole Sunshine away. By then their children were teenagers and the farmer felt alone on his big farm. The cow with the full udder became a memory often remembered along with hens and their gifts, dogs and cats, and little boys playing in the hay.

My Sunshine, he thought as his trembling hand put the memory back in its place. He heard a car and ventured outside, stopping momentarily, and taking a swing at a fly as the cow once did her tail when milked.

His son... the middle one, he thought... leapt out of the car with a tall young man following behind. His boy, the farmer remembered and shook the hand of his son.

"Hey Pop," the young man spoke wearing the smile that once belonged to his grandmother.

My Sunshine, the farmer thought as his trembling hand shook the steady one of his grandson.

"We have everything dad," his son said and produced 2 cans of many from the back of his truck. "Red paint for the old barn."

"Let's begin," the old farmer said as he looked at the repaired and primed exterior of the barn. A small group of family and friends emerged from the farmhouse and joined them in admiration of her. Each held memories close to their hearts as they shared in laughter together.

The old farmer stood at a distance from where they were and smiled as he closed his eyes and followed the warmth of the sun into a quiet lull with recollections of a time back when…

My Sunshine, he thought as his trembling hand reached in his pants pocket and felt the ribbon folded neatly inside. She always was so beautiful... painted in red.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my first piece of Vocal's Summer Fiction Series! If you enjoyed it, please send me a like by clicking the heart below or by sending a tip. I appreciate your support.

The story continues with "The middle son: Chocolate wars and the sting of Death".