A duo looking for the fires of true love.
Upon this Wisteria tree they rest together. She thought its fruit symbolic of the passions inflaming their relationship.
They are a close-knit couple yet something of their immutable bond is being cleaved in two. She is dressed in elaborate rose gold velvet garb, with her hands wrapped about bent knees. She thinks about the blossoming summer and emotions that her beloved rouses within.
Noting the lack of budding white flowers upon the shrub, her eyes turn to him.
As a draft billows her mane of raven hair, she senses that even the elements portend to the fact their relationship has entered a new season. He glances at her tanned features playfully and then back to the novel in his hands, engrossed in its pages. For her part, she wishes he had studied her intimately, she suddenly recognizes something concerning them both has diminished these fleeting months.
The sounds of children running along a nearby road draw her notice, singing, enjoying the innocence of youth. She discerns in them the shades of an old dream, a life of childlike rest she yearned for.
"Little Angels." she whispers.
Alexander notices and is lured to what she's contemplating. Mysteriously stirred, the words form on his lips, but for reasons he will dwell on for years to come he does not speak.
She studies them meanwhile and it begins to dawn on her exactly what has been missing in her days.
Later, the man with angelic eyes sits at an organ playing Gustav Mahler's Adagietto as his own voice narrates the misfortune of it all. His fingers are well accustomed to its keys: "She spoke to me later below that failing tree. She said what I said to a stranger in a dream I once had, what she struggled to verbalize as we strolled across the rolling Caucasus countryside. Words about that yearning she bore for whomever or whatever lit that virtuous innocence she beheld upon the children."
"Elena is upon the sofa, pouring over a much-loved book as a fire burns in the hearth. This is that flame of two souls bound together, content in its fitful glare. It kept a manner of warmth in our home. However, as I said, something else ignites the fellowship she craves. Inevitably that fireplace will be quenched and then she will go. I smile at her tenderly and my heart breaks as she beams back one of her own.
She is gone. The literature is no longer absorbing, failing to arouse even the simplest of interest anymore. I can almost hear the glossy chords of violins yoked to the profoundness of our shared regret dancing through that room nowadays. That novel lies open and unread upon the table and I am outside in a ghostly night.
With slender arms wrapped about my staggering figure tears begin to flow unchecked. Racked by sobs I gawk at the field of wheat, which echoes with the children's laughter...now at the Full Moon filling the sky.