Caresses (Jasper Hale love story)

Feels Like Coming Home

Bugs: Since I pull most of my inspirations from songs for this story, I was wondering if I should create a public spotify playlist to listen to. What do you guys think?

Stepping through the still tall grass that littered the ground. Reaching for the sun as tall as possible before the cold hits and the grass will become flatten as it is hit by the elements of winter. The warmth of a early fall that still flirted with summer allows a smile to fall on my pink tinted lips as the air still holds a hidden warmth. Fingers stretched long as they flit over the tops of the prairie grass as I travel further into our property. This area of our land was developed in a way that nature can run its course but allowed us to enjoy the garden with grass beds one can lie in all day as they stare up past green leaves of trees that shone gold as the sun filters through. The feeling of this place brings an unexplained comfort ever since I was yet a small child that griped the hands of my parents as we transverse the terrain. 

Breathing in through my nose, I inhale the cinnamon smells of fall as the maple trees mixed in with the even large evergreen trees. Dotting the ever-present green with splashes of colors that ranged from deep red to lighter hues of yellow and gold. The leaves have yet to fall as the season just entered fall, allowing for one to enjoy the field without the crunch of dry leaves beneath their feet. Exiting the small trail that meandered through tall tree lead to an open space with wild flowers growing out of the beds that were placed on the perimeter of the circular space that grew every year in the same spot. The plant life grew with rich colors that I have never seen elsewhere in town here, with lush green only seen in fantasy graced the green trucks of moss. The impossible hue of the wild flowers that grew in purples, pinks, and yellows that dotted the eye line with color and a so a smell so wonderful that instantly relaxes the person that enters. And there in the middle of all the plant life sat the family plaque in the middle.

The material of the stone is unlike any stone or rock I have seen in the area other than here, was a mixture of blue and grey that seemed to glimmer with lines of gold that blended with the other colors as if an artist lazily placed for aesthetics. And in the middle, placed with bronze metal letters stated:

                                                                     Jameason

                                                                      EST. 1890

It's strange to think that my family is one of the six families that founded this town had chosen this place to stay and that so many of my ancestors continued to stay here after. My mother was the last carrier of our name after her parents died in a car crash a year after she turned 18, decided to keep her name as our family name to uphold our history, which my father was fine with as he had no other family as well and was happy to take on her name. They ironically met when they both attended the University of Washington and married not long after they graduated. They decided to move back here so my mother can run the family business and my father dedicated his time to teaching music at the high school. Now its just us, my mother and I, the remainder of a long established family with history rooted so deeply in the bricks and the paved roads that has been carved through this town.

Placing my checkered grey blanket next to the stately plaque, I sit down next to it, lifting my fingers to trace the letters. I understand why my mother has always been so afraid to leave this place as it is the only place that held such precious memories of the warmth of a hug to the sound of laughter that would drift in the breeze as stories are exchanged. But I also understood that just because it is tradition to take over the family business that I shouldn't be held down by expectations of our family. How I dreamed ever since I was a child of the stories of my father's childhood of constant travels that leads to glorious and warm beaches with sand that squishes beneath your toes. To such large mountains that they made you feel like an insignificant dot on a blank sheet of paper that can be cleared away with a swipe of a hand.

Sighing, I rest my hand against the stone. Running my fingers over the smooth surface as I think of my father's stories, my dreams, and the unexplained thoughts that swirled around images of gold eyes. Turning, I rest my back against the stone and grab my guitar that I placed on the blanket next to me. Beginning to strum a somewhat light tune mixed with melancholy as if to match the tribulations of my struggling thoughts. 

The wind blows stronger, seeming to make the flowers dance to music that strums through my fingers as I pluck at notes. Sinking deeper and deeper into the melody, feeling as if the air around me pulsed with the music that changes from random tunes to a chaotic song that seems to speak what has been screaming through my mind every time I think of the future. My eyes shut as I let everything hit me as if it was waves crashing furiously on a rocky shore.

Wanting to leave...

A warmth forms in my chest as my heart seemed ready to burst as I let myself be taken into the waves of emotion emitting from each note that vibrates through the air.

Scared of letting go of the thread that ties me here...

My mother's smiling face crosses through my mind. She has gone through so much lost in her life, from my grandparents to my father. And yet, she works so hard to be apart of my life, to understand the struggles I face everyday. The warmth spread throughout my chest, like what started as a small fire has began to catch onto the plant life surrounding it and building higher.

The strange connection I feel every time I look into his golden eyes...

Why is it that a person I barely know, a person who I have spoke so little to have such a claim over my thoughts the last few weeks. Why is it that whenever we do make eye contact do I feel a deep seeded familiarity when I peer into his golden eyes. The fire spreads as the frustration I have built up moved down my arms and reached my finger tips. Warmth pooling my palms, as my heart speed up.

Wanting answers to all the unspoken questions that swirl faster and faster every day...

When suddenly my fingers pause as I feel a sparking feeling leave my fingers. A strange current sensation stemming from the middle of my chest up and down through my arms to the tips of my fingers that hover over the still vibrating strings. Opening my eyes slowly, hazel orbs widen in a confusing mixture of horror and awe.

The forest that always seemed to be alive with its own presence seems frozen. No wind, no faint chirping of birds, flowers seemed to be turned in my direction as if watching me. As in front of my very eyes, the empty space left by the ever present wind that stilled, is filled with a nearly invisible shimmering rope of gold dust that is twisting and turning all around me. As if it is a protective circle, it glimmered with its own light as the sun reflected off of it. 

As the breath I held rushes out, no sooner did the rope seemed to dance around in front of my eyes had disappeared in the air, did the forest suddenly came back to life as the wind returns in a gentle breeze, the birds raise their voices in sad song, the flowers return gazing up into the sun for light.

It was as if what I just saw was nothing but a dream brought on by a vivid daydream. I had almost let it go till I looked back down to my hand still resting over the guitar strings did I realize it all had been real.

The faintest gold shimmer that played around like a curious bee over the back of my hand slowly seemed to absorb into the pale skin. Did I finally allow myself to believe what happened was real, and not induced by a daydream hallucination. Did I allow myself to believe that something impossible just happened.

An impossible moment.

This was so much more angst then I wanted but I also love drama. 

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