Yellow Flowers

The carers had placed Frank under the tree. Beside him was a glass of water and a crossword book. It was early enough in the day for the warmth of the sun to pervade though his atrophied legs without the pain of searing heat; he fought back waves of exhaustion and regarded the garden around him.

When he had first arrived at the home it had been no more than poorly managed grass, but with the help of some of the more dedicated staff Frank and some of the other residents had turned it into nothing short of an oasis of calm and tranquillity. His stillness in the garden meant that he could observe the comings and goings of insects, birds and other animals without causing alarm. He had learnt to be still, both physically and mentally, by reading various texts from different branches of the Buddhist teachings and practising meditation. It was this calm that drew his attention to the yellow flowers on the other side of the garden; it was a tiny movement, barely visible to his old eyes.

In amongst the yellow a head moved. He recognised it as a fawn, possibly exploring without its mother. The flowers separated and it moved out into the open, one leg at a time and never making a sound. It sniffed the grass and began to chew on the greenery, stopping frequently to assess its situation.

Slowly Frank lifted the glass from off the table and lowered it down to the ground. The Fawn observed the movement but did not stop chewing cud. Slowly it moved forward until Frank could hear its breathing then stopped. Both of their eyes met, old and new.

Frank was sure he heard it say “I know” and he nodded. The Fawn drank from the glass with Frank gently stroking its head.

When the carers returned to take him back in, Frank was cold despite the heat. His stare was locked onto the receding Fawn and Frank had very much departed too.

(c) 2021 A .Hattam