A Fallen Leaf is Nothing More Than a Summers Wave Good Bye
Title: A Fallen Leaf is Nothing More Than a Summers Wave Good Bye
Author: erstwhiletexan
Written for: belles_letres_x
Characters: Dakin, Akthar
December, 2007
Akthar stood at the edge of the grass in the Magdalen Cloisters and inhaled the scent of the stones, cold in the December air. Frost still powdered a corner of the Cloisters lawn where the sun had not yet wiped it away. The leaves on the Virginia creepers were golden and orange and still hanging precariously on. Addison’s Walk had been golden, as well, under the deep blue sky when Akthar had wandered along the path earlier that day. It seemed as if it could hardly be December, Magdalen was still so alive with colour.
As he stood listening to the sunlight creeping across the grass, Akthar closed his eyes and remembered standing in almost the same spot years before with Posner. They had both finished their interviews and had been discussing how they thought things went when they had both fallen silent. Posner had had a look on his face, a strange look, like he was trying to convince himself that it would be like that moment in the Cloisters, always. Akthar had been trying to memorize every surface, every shadow-in case he never got to see the Cloisters again. Twenty-four years later he could still remember every shadow-and he could still remember the way the light illuminated Posner’s skin next to the pale stone.
There were steps behind him, now, and Akthar opened his eyes.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a familiar voice said. Akthar turned and found Dakin standing behind him with a young man and Akthar’s daughter, Kamini.
“Dakin,” he breathed, and they shook hands. He also shook hands with the boy-Dakin’s son, Michael-before asking, “How did the interviews go?”
“Fine,” Kamini said, in her quiet voice. “I can go home.”
“Congratulations,” Dakin said. “We’re heading off this afternoon, too. Thought we’d have lunch at the Mitre first.”
Akthar and Kamini stood in awkward silence next to the two Dakins. Akthar was certain they were feeling similarly uncomfortable-Michael Dakin was exactly like his father had been, and seeing him made Akthar remember how foolish and out of place he had always felt whenever Dakin was around. Akthar had worshipped Dakin at Oxford. Almost as if he had taken up the torch Posner had let go of, Akthar had fallen in love with Dakin’s easy charm and huge acquaintance. Dakin had It, whatever It was, and Akthar loved him for it.
Kamini broke the silence. “It’s very beautiful today.”
“Nature’s first green is gold,” Dakin said, and looked expectantly at his son, who was paying more attention to his mobile than to the Cloisters. Dakin seemed about to say something when Kamini broke in.
“Her hardest hue to hold, Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour.”
Dakin nodded and smiled at Akthar, who finished the poem, “Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. Do you remember first year? Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness? Have you heard from Posner recently?”
“No,” Dakin said, “Not in a while.”
Kamini leant against the Cloister wall. “Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too-While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue.”
“Well, we’d best be off,” Dakin said. “Good seeing you, Akthar.”
“You too,” Akthar said as Dakin collared his son and hauled him away for lunch. “What do you think?”
“I don’t like him,” Kamini said. “Michael. He doesn’t deserve to come here-he won’t appreciate it.”
Akthar was surprised. “I meant what you thought of Magdalen.”
“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.”
Akthar smiled and put his arm around his daughter. They stood at the edge of the grass in the Cloisters, one looking forward to autumn days stretching into the future without quantity or ending; the other looking back to autumn days as golden as the creeper leaves and as still and silent at the stones.
Author: erstwhiletexan
Written for: belles_letres_x
Characters: Dakin, Akthar
December, 2007
Akthar stood at the edge of the grass in the Magdalen Cloisters and inhaled the scent of the stones, cold in the December air. Frost still powdered a corner of the Cloisters lawn where the sun had not yet wiped it away. The leaves on the Virginia creepers were golden and orange and still hanging precariously on. Addison’s Walk had been golden, as well, under the deep blue sky when Akthar had wandered along the path earlier that day. It seemed as if it could hardly be December, Magdalen was still so alive with colour.
As he stood listening to the sunlight creeping across the grass, Akthar closed his eyes and remembered standing in almost the same spot years before with Posner. They had both finished their interviews and had been discussing how they thought things went when they had both fallen silent. Posner had had a look on his face, a strange look, like he was trying to convince himself that it would be like that moment in the Cloisters, always. Akthar had been trying to memorize every surface, every shadow-in case he never got to see the Cloisters again. Twenty-four years later he could still remember every shadow-and he could still remember the way the light illuminated Posner’s skin next to the pale stone.
There were steps behind him, now, and Akthar opened his eyes.
“Penny for your thoughts,” a familiar voice said. Akthar turned and found Dakin standing behind him with a young man and Akthar’s daughter, Kamini.
“Dakin,” he breathed, and they shook hands. He also shook hands with the boy-Dakin’s son, Michael-before asking, “How did the interviews go?”
“Fine,” Kamini said, in her quiet voice. “I can go home.”
“Congratulations,” Dakin said. “We’re heading off this afternoon, too. Thought we’d have lunch at the Mitre first.”
Akthar and Kamini stood in awkward silence next to the two Dakins. Akthar was certain they were feeling similarly uncomfortable-Michael Dakin was exactly like his father had been, and seeing him made Akthar remember how foolish and out of place he had always felt whenever Dakin was around. Akthar had worshipped Dakin at Oxford. Almost as if he had taken up the torch Posner had let go of, Akthar had fallen in love with Dakin’s easy charm and huge acquaintance. Dakin had It, whatever It was, and Akthar loved him for it.
Kamini broke the silence. “It’s very beautiful today.”
“Nature’s first green is gold,” Dakin said, and looked expectantly at his son, who was paying more attention to his mobile than to the Cloisters. Dakin seemed about to say something when Kamini broke in.
“Her hardest hue to hold, Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour.”
Dakin nodded and smiled at Akthar, who finished the poem, “Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay. Do you remember first year? Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness? Have you heard from Posner recently?”
“No,” Dakin said, “Not in a while.”
Kamini leant against the Cloister wall. “Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too-While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue.”
“Well, we’d best be off,” Dakin said. “Good seeing you, Akthar.”
“You too,” Akthar said as Dakin collared his son and hauled him away for lunch. “What do you think?”
“I don’t like him,” Kamini said. “Michael. He doesn’t deserve to come here-he won’t appreciate it.”
Akthar was surprised. “I meant what you thought of Magdalen.”
“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.”
Akthar smiled and put his arm around his daughter. They stood at the edge of the grass in the Cloisters, one looking forward to autumn days stretching into the future without quantity or ending; the other looking back to autumn days as golden as the creeper leaves and as still and silent at the stones.