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Topic: Flowers (10/03/05)
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TITLE: Flower Boots | Previous Challenge Entry
By Emily Shumack
10/10/05 -
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There were rays of light slicing through the sheets of corrugated iron. The place where Mick used to sit and enjoy the sound of rain steadily pouring down was now a place of refuge to the animals of the bush. This house had been left empty for so long that it was hard to believe it had once been a home filled with the voices of families, friends and neighbours.
Mick looked down at his worn work boots. They were soaked through and caked in mud. There was no point going back to the ute to put on some dry clothes, the rain was getting heavier. He had come this far so he might as well continue the journey and allow himself to relive the memories that remained in the house and surrounding grounds.
Sticks and gravel crunched under Mick’s feet. He weaved his way through the garden where he had played as a child. There was the tree that held the clues to their Easter egg hunts, the shrubs below the bedroom window where birds nested and the old sewerage tank at the bottom of the garden. That was where an old pony had got stuck and needed a tractor to help pull it out.
This story of his childhood that Mick had imagined himself sharing with his wife and children, he now reminisced alone. Walking out from the shelter of the trees Mick lifted his face up towards the sky allowing the rain to wash down over his hair, face and neck.
He didn’t care that he was now drenched to the bone. He wanted to feel whole again, to have the rain flow with healing over his broken spirit. Mick had only come here after losing his wife and children. By coming back to the place where his life had begun he thought he could start to find some healing.
The rain and tears poured down Mick’s face. He let the memories and emotions overtake him. Only as the rain began to lighten did Mick step back under the canopy of trees. His shoulders heaved as he took in deep breaths and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands.
Standing in the garden with only the sounds of birds, drops of rain and rustling leaves Mick listened to the silence. He had not been still and listened for that voice of love in a very long time.
“Where the hell are you God?” Mick asked out loud.
I am here my beloved.
He looked around sharply, had someone just spoken? Folding his arms tightly against himself and stamping his feet, Mick looked down again at his feet. He could see little seeds sticking to his socks just above his boots.
Kneeling down to pick them off Mick glanced towards the bottom of the garden. In front of him was a carpet of tiny blue flowers. They had taken over the whole area. Mick remembered as a child after running through the flowers how his mother would scold him. She would make him get all the little seeds off his trouser legs and socks before coming inside.
Mick stopped pulling at the seeds and reached to grasp a handful of flowers. As he held them up and caressed them with his fingers he said “Forget-me-nots”. It was the name of these flowers, the ones his grandmother and mother had sewn many many years ago at the bottom of the garden.
With the handful of flowers Mick turned and walked back towards his ute. He would take these flowers and plant them in front of his porch to remind him of treasuring the memories of the past and finding God’s stillness.
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Just one piece of advice. As you consider your readers, be aware that some kind-of-strong-language in Australian English is very-strong-language in the language of US Christians.
You did great. Looking forward to reading more of your work!