By Prospero Dae
Snow crocuses sentinelled a grave where a child had been laid to rest. He was aged three, according to the hoarfrosted inscription on the headstone, which was presently being read by a shabbily clad stranger.
But the glint of gold in a patch of virginal snow distracted the reader. It was discovered to be a handsome pocket watch, which the stranger now cradled in the palm of his gelid hand. It had stopped at fourteen minutes past three. Was this the precise moment the child had died?
Later, having gone somewhither, a squalid tenement, the stranger bowed his head and cried.
Why did the stranger bow his head and weep? For the death of a child? For the good fortune of finding a gold watch he could pawn? For guilt at being happy when he ought to be sad? Is there some significance to 3:14, or is that just a red herring? A wonderfully complex piece….it glimmers like the needles of fern frost on a window, somewither, of a cold morning.
There is something almost preternatural about a stopped analog watch, as it is nevertheless correct twice a day. But since the inscription on the headstone was hoarfrosted, think about the poor pocket watch. It’s all fraught with the possibility of misreading(s), which has its own implications.
Fern frost, soft rime, and all the cast of winter players…
I agree with Cynthia this one is really complex and yet you allow us to carry on with the story in our heads. I see the stranger alone in his own grief, for life – situations and possibly because his sad existence needs all but a reminder of others grief to set his own off. The watch ~ another story.
And Mary, since it is a glacial winter scene, it’s paradise for painters (if they remember their mittens, a thermos of hot chocolate, some brandy, et cetera).