Northport, Alabama

More than a century ago, she tucked his photograph away in her prayer book, along with a leaf and her rosary devotions, carefully copied by hand in the margins and end pages. The year was 1851 and his name was Joachim Manelphe.

On a gray winter’s day on a hillside in Roquevidal, France she gazed out at the barren landscape and struggled to find the words.

Forgive me. Forgive me. Remember me. Forgive me. Librez moi, mon Dieu.

The ink bled into the thin pages, stained her pale hands but she didn’t care.

Pardonnez-moi, pardonnez-mor, revenez moi. The damp air crept through her thin shawl and she shivered involuntarily as its icy fingers lingered along the nape of her neck. Where are you? <i>Je suis si seul. Please. Mon Dieu,

The damp air crept through her thin shawl and she shivered involuntarily as its icy fingers lingered along the nape of her neck.

Where are you? Je suis si seul. Please. Mon Dieu, ne m’abandonnent pas. So many happy days they had spent along this river. Her head in his lap as he read poetry through the languid stillness of a Sunday afternoon. His hands entwined in her hair. Laughing in the rain as time marched slowly forward. <i>Je

So many happy days they had spent along this river, her head in his lap as he read poetry through the languid stillness of a Sunday afternoon. His hands entwined in her hair. Laughing in the rain as time marched slowly forward.

Je t’aime. J’ai besoin de vois. S’il vous plait. Please. Please.

But in her heart she knew. She knew. And there wasn’t a prayer in the world that could change it.

Music of the day: Thousand Mile Wish by Finger Eleven

Photograph by 12 Stones

Posted on February 2, 2005 by Carmen K. Sisson tagged Alabama, Northport, still life