This Epiphany Of Mine...

Midst the pastoral churches and in the narrow lanes of the countryside, the paving of whose avenues would often stay hurled with the inevitably captivating décor of the sylvan sycamores that are now seldom beheld yonder, and with gates of black, green, and red, all abutting each other, and seemingly greeting the way that somehow still leads me home at the same hour, I can recall them with such clarity now – my abode of sanctity. Skies would be so covered in the clasp of the moonlit constellations, and with a breeze emanating from a quiet bower of the orchard that must loiter around in the ambiance now as well, so as I believe about something for the last time, turning into a wind so rash so fast, the bewilderment of some great potential it would seem to be so often, driving insanity in the mind of one for amid such wonders coexisting together, and many more dwelling in the contemporary, you can’t figure if it’s the gale you intend to rejoice – indeed, with the slight caressing kiss that you admire, or if it’s the herald of the tempest you should fear.

Ginger bread, ginger soup, omelet with a bowl and a half of fried onion rings, merely bereft of salt this time, peanut butter and cutlery devoid of the knives, which is certainly to appear conducive to Rieu, indeed, as it is the suspect of so obvious a kind that it rather attain the composition of my anticipation now, lie on an unusually gray shaded tray, and one that’s seldom likely to hold onto the weight conferred to it. Three of its vertices shine bright by three of its nearly amorphous corners whose shapes, as the mention itself stands evident enough, are hard to be described. Amidst the red soup of this courgette, with sprinkles of the deep-fried bacon flaps, and the tomato puree, I try seeking if anything lies in there, even in form, that may summon Rieu’s disapproval. He has been such a connoisseur lately. It’s seldom bereft of a perplexity that I get to figure what really appears congenial to his tongue. I can perhaps, inquire if he fancies a list he can aid me with for it’s so intractable otherwise to tell the least bit about what he devours. This cannot be that out of the plethora of the delicacies I have displayed forth my servility hitherto with, he comes to find them all so insipid. Indeed, no other person in Saint Louisa has expressed such dejection in this decade of my sincere services, never consciously. I am utterly aware of what confinements my obligation is anticipated for, and how long a stretch the perilous consequences can compose such jeopardy to for themselves consequently of any display of my defiance. But beholding Rieu clasped in a seizure last night made it just difficult for me to keep up with my obedience.

“Sarah, you are paged. A moment.”, so as I just heard Mr. Walden say as he beckoned me. My audacity may aid me with the casualties and the ill ones admitted in the ward of my concern, but my venture is so fragile in front of Mr. Walden for he is a man to consider a delay of no kind, let alone an objection. “Doctor, you recollected me.”, I utter, panting owing to the brisk transition I took to reach him. “Yes, Sarah. I did. I had my advent at the hospital a few hours back and heeded to my patient at nine sharp. The faculty of the pathology must have been informed about the observations of mine by now, merely to put it all too precisely. I wish to have a look at the reports concerning today’s entry. However, scrutinizing the way the hours are unfolding, you're seeking it out for me seems quite intractable to me already. The cases haven’t gone down. There’s not been, nor is there any declivity in the statistics that I can decode so far, at least medically. Miserable as is the time for us all.” I ponder now how lengthy a lapse of some really unforgettable hours it might have been since my ears heard something so delicately painful. But again, there’s to none denying the truth that that is what it is. Dozens of my hours have been given away bereft of thought of even a shake to reciting my Angelus, and another dozen gazing at my words of faith fade into nothing thicker than thin air. But it’s my perseverance. In this land of such lack of negotiation, and mere an understanding I desire as I do act the same way, indeed, I’m acquainted enough with how my actions are considered with expectation and what defines the outskirts of my duties to neither ask for a smidgen of any reverence in an amount that will be measured as more than what I deserve, nor do I entreat for recognition for myself, but the bodies I behold traveling home. “You may fetch that within the night for we aren’t having any day off anyway.”, connotes Mr. Walden. “Sir, I’ve been conferred with the lunch of patient numbered as 286. I was merely making my way to the ward of mention.”, seeking the ounces of the much valor my skin could be found embodying, I respond to Mr. Walden’s nearly imperious commands that he commences enumerating the list of all that needs to be done by the hour the sun decides to depart, evincing that he never really meant to culminate. “With the ITV in the line of the displays that are anticipated to be due today, I fancy having the details provided a stance within those very displays at nine sharp. Put me on a call or, get my pages to reach me. I will…uh…”, he ceases with utterly obvious transience in his speech to figure out the prospects, or if there remains any prospect of the plan, if heeded to in the light of his schedule he seems to have almost wrapped up composing right then and there, with the map of his hours. He commences again “ Indeed, I will be in Saint Carolina, attending a seminar of an honorable assembly around that phase of the day today. I will put forth my reason of urgency and am certain will be conferred with an allowance, given the context. I’ll be on my way back. Make sure to…” that I find myself cutting in between, or shall I say interrupting, an act that summons his deprecation with such an ineluctable certainty that I am nearly hurled into stillness by the fascination of this audacity of mine that I reveal so recklessly – “May you fancy another hand for the report, sir. Looking at the savoire faire of the patient, the attainment of the task of your want doesn’t seem to be too promising.” “Sarah”, Dr. Walden follows just consecutively, astonishment keeping his visage entirely overwhelmed. He sighs a deep sigh, looks at the ground, and then at me. “You don’t know it. Ah… uh… Sara…Okay. Sarah, I um…”, so he ransacks for a way to put it right. As is so truly claimed, medical science perhaps couldn’t teach the abstract. The zephyr crossing my lawn hits me like a gale, and why not? I am doomed. “I won’t want to.”, I say, keeping the tray of food aside. All such a waste! a sheer waste.

So rash it is or, so as it seems to me, why! Is it not? That convulsion of such delicate tenderness giving birth to yet another life – a mother’s, the tracery of the lines clasping to thick mucus of another’s body, merely that they are carved on skin, so pliant and vulnerable to anything and everything, they all seek room of respite in my eyes. But no sooner is it that I am ambushed by the truth, and alas! I know of what it’s to summon. It always does, doesn’t it? Such bitterness is so abruptly in plethora, and it’s all too much for me to take. While composing my tears beseeching succor are the remembrances never did I pay heed to, but owed I the same the entire time. They are so visible, grasping forms beyond mere silhouettes now as if just coming to bid adieu for one last time. And so static they appear, so fresh and succulent. I ask myself, “What would I give to undo it all, had it merely been in a different light?” With merely hours from the coat of my life, I now find my hands in his, and I realize I don’t want my hands out for it’s too cold outside. This abstraction of what remained nothingness, merely until now, I conceive it as my compassion in this second of the moment I live. And it is too hard to conceive; my tears taste like terror, and it’s all I taste now.