The Autumn Princess

As he walked down the concrete path that was covered with shredded leaves and dried flowers, he thought of a similar day when he first saw her.

It was a November evening, when autumn was turning into winter and the skies looked like the cheeks of a teenage girl blushing red. He saw her from a distance. The white cotton dress that she was wearing had little white lilies, making it look like it was made for this day.

He stood by the gate of the Church, almost hesitating to step in … just wanting her to walk by holding that bouquet of long-stem roses. He wished he had his sketchbook in which he usually attempted to replicate those miracles of nature. He noticed that she was walking towards the graveyard. She stepped in there with silent steps. In his eagerness, he followed her, only making sure he wasn’t close enough for her to know of his presence. She stopped by a white gravestone. The statue of an archangel wiping away a tear drop stood there. She gently knelt down placing the bouquet of roses like she were placing them in the lap of the one that lay there. As she began to pray, tears streamed down her eyes. As he watched her standing at a distance, his heart cried out too …. But why? He wondered. It was only moments ago that he had seen her …

Why was his soul feeling the sorrow that a stranger was undergoing? He stood at a distance, behind a gravestone, as she wiped her tears, got up and started to walk out …

He came back the next day; hoping he’d see her again, praying that he could find the courage to go up to her and just saying a few words that would soothe her bleeding her heart. But he just stood there that morning and for several mornings thereafter…

He sat by the Oak tree in the Church, at the entrance of the graveyard and painted a portrait as if it was the single most important goal of his life. As days passed by, she noticed him. So one December morning, walked up to him and asked him why he was here for so many mornings. He tried so hard to hide away his masterpiece. But all in vain. She smiled as she saw it. For the first time, in all the time that he knew her had he seen the dimples on her cheek that looked like dew-drops on rose petals at dawn.

She said, “The man I am here to see everyday, my Papa, also once painted a similar portrait of mine …” So conversations began and closeness grew. Before he could realize he was falling deeply in love with her …

His newest friend … his confidant … BLOSSOM …