29

47 7 95
                                    

To the right of the gravel pathway, the river lay frozen in the silence of a lifeless painting. To the left, bushes and trees reached with their limbs into a windless sky. Pebbles didn't move or crunch under foot as Bill walked alone towards the park; towards an empty space at the edge of a misplaced pond where the white gazebo once stood. With each step, the park appeared farther and farther away until it was no longer within sight.

He climbed the slope on his left where the line of trees ended, and the gravel pathway gave way to stone. Mid way up, Bill sat himself on the hillside to gaze across the foreign landscape. The view that awaited wasn't the serene setting that he had enjoyed in life and dreams, but rather, an unfamiliar setting with terraced stone walls and cobblestone paths lined with benches and lampposts. A waterless fountain at the foot of the hill depicted a goddess in a sculpture at its center. Details were lost to the distance, and if it weren't for the shape of the statues head being roughly visible, it would look like nothing more than a block of concrete. On a bluff to his right, a grand cathedral awaited the light of the setting sun to add colour and life to its cold stone walls. In the distance, beyond the fountain and walkways, fields of pale yellow extended from the river's edge across lands beyond the horizon.

The scene that filled his vision didn't exist in the world outside of the dream but was constructed from visions of places Bill had seen. Places he had visited in his youth or wished to see in travels that still awaited.

Despite the glow of the sun, the dream was cold and lifeless while he sat and waited. The grey shadow of a person passed over Bill, alerting him to their presence. Her soft, familiar voice shocked the scenery to life and sent an excited shiver through his core. "Have you been waiting long?"

The walls of Cathedral Saint-Nazaire took on a fiery glow as the sun's rays painted with strokes of red and orange. Canola swayed in the distant field, giving brief glimpses of lush green within the sea of bright yellow.

Bill's eyes met Matilda's and followed them until she had sat herself on the grass beside him. She broke from the gaze to take in the scenery and let a wondrous smile find its home on her lips. At the foot of the hill, water flowed within the fountain where the goddess Cybele sat on a chariot drawn by two lions. Clouds and tree limbs danced to the rhythm of a gentle breeze that tickled the surface of the River Orb.

"Where are we?" Matilda asked as her eyes snapped to his.

"Nowhere. Everywhere? I think that fountain is in Madrid and the field of canola is the Canadian prairies. I'm not sure about these walls and pathways, but that church up there and I think the river are in a small town in the south of France."

"Oh, when... uhm, you traveled... there?" she fought to ask an actual question.

"When I was twelve, I went on a trip with my parents. We traveled by train for three weeks from one city to another, starting in Madrid and finished in Amsterdam. We would spend a few days in different towns along the way."

"I would love to go on a trip like that. Explore all sorts of different places. Old castles. The restaurants. And the food. I would love it."

"I've been wanting to go back," Bill replied. "When I was younger, I didn't really appreciate the history or the culture of it all."

"You should go," she said as her eyes turned skyward.

Matilda's hand skimmed through the lush green blades of grass between them. His eyes followed their movement and waited for her fingers to settle in place. Once her hand had stilled itself, he moved his, bringing his fingers over top of hers. As the warmth of her skin flowed into his fingertips, her eyes released the clouds she had been holding in her gaze, to watch as Bill took her hand in his. There was no hesitation. No fear. Just the comforting feel of their fingers interlaced, woven together. The dream wasn't lost to darkness and nightmares but rather, seemed to develop new life that walked the pathways and soared in the sky.

After OliviaWhere stories live. Discover now