It was just past midnight when I looked out the study window and the clouds were dark, ominous, rumbling with bolts of lightning making the night seem like day. The wind was blowing hard whipping the waves upon the shore. The night had released the furies. It was the promised nor’easter that everyone had feared. The night would be long, and the morning would bring to light massive devastation.
The storm had awakened me from my deep dreams of my granddaddy sitting in his study writing. In the dream, he was caught in the stories and letters to friends and family. These would be the last poems written, the last stories he would tell, and his last manuscript to send to his publisher. In the dream, a letter sat on his oak desk, and there written in ink sat an envelope with my name in bold letters.
The wind was powerful and frightening and the thunder shook the cottage. I knew the house was old, yet it had weathered storms for many years, and I knew I was in a safe place. I knew that the dream had some truth in it as our family believed that often dreams brought us messages. I walked around Granddaddy’s writing room knowing that the letter I saw in my dreams was here somewhere, but the candles burned low, and I was yet to find its hiding place.
I sat at his desk looking at the outbox and no matter how long I sat looking it was not there. The storm was building stronger, and the temperature was dropping. I grabbed some kindling and touched a match to the wood, and it grew slowly. I could feel the warmth and sat back behind the desk. Granddaddy’s sweater was on the back of the chair and with some hesitations I put it on, I could smell his cologne and the scent of firewood. This awakened so many memories of spending time with him when I was a child.
I put my hands in the sweater pockets and felt an envelope. I held my breath, and I pulled it out and there it was the letter he never got to send to me. The letter’s first sentence captivated me, and I knew I was reaching for a new journey.
The Letter
My dear grandson if you are reading this it is the poet’s last days. In this letter, I give you the cottage by the sea so that you can live the life of a poet and artist.
I could read no more, tears came, running down my face and I longed for my granddaddy. For now, I will sit in his chair and watch the storm get to the other side of midnight and I will wait here and watch the coming sin rise.
Excerpt from Part Four – The Letter
