When night fell

1 | cracking eggs

The red sunlight softly danced upon the beige pillar. Flickered. It became brighter, then softer again. A brief moment later, blue made its way upon the pillar too. Then yellow. Violet and green. In wonder, I stared. Experiencing it as if it was the first time I'd seen it.

The colours kept dancing, but the sunlight had the power over how bright they would be displayed. Only a mere minute. Then the sunlight disappeared again. I blinked a few times, moved my eyes away from the pillar, and gazed at the people, who were praying, admiring, or just sitting upon the benches in the church.

I dropped my head upon my arms, resting onto the Prie Dieu. Closed my eyes, but my lips could not form a prayer. For it had been too long since I had done that. I didn't remember how to. Looking up, I wished I could read the minds of the people who seemed to be praying. wondering what they said, confessed or thought in silence.

How did Mamma do it?

After a moment, I tried to reach for my trekking pole, and pulled myself up with a soft grunt.

With my lips slightly parted, I breathed in deeply, found my balance, and breathed out slowly as I straightened myself. It took me a few steps before the stiffness went away in my right leg, and once I was near the exit, I walked a whole lot less limp.

Perhaps, it hadn't been the best of ideas to kneel down with an iron leg that didn't work as it used to. It was the effect of unspoken prayers, but endless thinking. Another failed mission. With a sigh, I returned back to the farm.

The lane leading up to the house, was about one quarter mile. It depended on the day, how fast I could walk the gravel path.

The path was big enough for a tractor to drive on, but two cars wouldn't be able to pass. Alongside the path were wooden fences, enclosing green pastures where a few jersey cows and Valais blacknose sheep were happily grazing away. A few apple trees were scattered along the way towards the house, with ripen apples slowly swinging back and forth due to the soft breeze.

I picked one and took a bite, while I snuggled deeper into my sweater, the temperature turning colder now it was November. The sun, although shining weakly, still warmed my face a little.

I enjoyed autumn. For me, it felt as if the earth would start to slumber a little. People slowed down, preparing for the end of the year, tucking away the hastiness that summer had been. Perhaps, it felt that way, because I wasn't always be able to keep up, but in the end, I guess it was what everyone needed. A time to reset.

Leaves would fall, apples were ready to be picked, and animals had more time to slumber in their warm barn. I liked it. Younger me would not have understood that.

Finishing my apple, I threw the remaining of the apple in the chicken coop, which laid on the left side of the path, where the barn was. The chickens clucked, quickly made their way over to the fruit. First hesitant, but after one of the chickens started picking rapidly, the other chicks soon followed. I watched for a while, then turned the other way to the farmhouse.

The house wasn't too big, nor small. It had three bedrooms, one bathroom, two toilets, a kitchen, a basement- which served as a big pantry, and a living room.

On the opposite of the house, stood the barn. There was a loft in the barn, renovated into a place where a bed, a shower, a toilet and a small kitchen were made. It was home to me.

When I entered the farmhouse, Matthew was sitting at the kitchen table, with a paper in his hand, a cigar in his mouth. He glanced at me, gave a quick nod. I returned it, and poured the both of us some coffee. Matthew cleared his throat. "Where's the warm apple pie?" He asked, his eyes not leaving the newspaper.