Tales Of The Wisp ~AYU INDAH

PART 2 ~TODAY

We were outside in the garden, basking in the soft embrace of a mid-morning breeze that seemed as if it had been painted just for us. Only Sky, our youngest, remained at home, lost in a game of catch with the dogs while the older children were away at college. Jun sat beneath the pergola, savoring a glass of fresh butong, the juice from a young coconut, while I wandered the garden, letting my senses absorb each detail.

Everything gleamed in the light. The leaves, the flowers, even the stems seemed to wear a lustrous sheen, as if the sun itself had polished them. Colors were more vibrant, the jewel tones of petals and foliage dancing in the breeze, their beauty amplified by the gentle wind. This wasn't just a summer's day—it felt magical, as if we had stepped into a moment that belonged to another world, or perhaps, to a memory we were yet to make.

The air carried a dry warmth that lingered on my skin, leaving it with a golden glow. I noticed Nai Ceri working among the blooms, her hands deftly shaking off the wilted whites from the dense clusters. There she was, tending to the garden with the same quiet dedication that had become second nature to her. Her rituals were as precise as always—each tug, each clip, bringing the plants back to life.

I stood back, watching her move with practiced grace. The cascading blooms spilled down from the bamboo trellis above, their vibrant colors spilling across the garden's sloping edges—shades of amethyst: violet, purple, lilac, lavender. The flowers resembled clustered gemstones, each one catching the sunlight in a different way, drawing me deeper into the scene.

"Ebton ni," she muttered, the words soft yet determined. "Pluck it out." With a breathless concentration, Nai stretched toward the taller clusters, her short frame pushing to its limit. In her hand was her ever-present sundang, which she wielded like an extension of herself, using it as a makeshift stick to knock down the dried flowers. I watched as she carefully removed each faded bloom—a ritual of deadheading she believed would encourage even more flowers to bloom in their place. Nai's little ceremony for the next wave of life.

As I stood there, I wrinkled my nose at the faint, peculiar odor of the disturbed flowers. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was sharp—earthy. Nai, unfazed, pulled herself to the very edge of her reach, her machete shaking loose the dried flowers. "Makatabang ni sa sunod na pamulak," she said, maybe to herself, maybe to me. "It'll help for the next round of blooms." With Nai, it was always hard to tell whether you were part of the conversation or simply within earshot.

I smiled to myself. I had come to understand her ways, the little quirks that seemed like ancient knowledge passed down through generations. The way she treated each plant as if it were her own child, nurturing it with the care of someone who had spent years learning its language. I had grown fond of gardening, but Nai's approach was something else entirely—it was an art. A science, perfected over time.

Just then, Jun appeared by my side, gently breaking me from my thoughts. "I'm driving down to the city," he said, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. "I'll be right back. Do you need anything?" His presence, so steady and familiar, felt like an anchor in the quiet chaos of my mind.

"Do I need anything? Hmm..." I looked around, taking in the garden, considering his question.

"Paints? Brushes?" He laughed, probably expecting that. "Or chocolates?" His grin was playful, teasing.

"No, I'm fine," I shook my head, "I have more than enough." But then a thought crossed my mind, and my face lit up. "Well... yes—to chocolates," I said with a smile. "Dark ones."