Gavin Austin

The Fragrance of Darkness

I know the place well. You spoke of it years ago. During those many times we sat on the wooden bench facing the water and chatted, until the sunset threw its colours into the bay.

Today, I sit and talk with you again. It has been a fun afternoon. A long lunch with friends in the old neighbourhood. I describe the day in detail. Who was there, and I list every dish we ordered. Your favourites. I raise a glass of bubbly, take a sip, and cheer you. Golden hour is fading. The harbour settles as its water silvers. Along the street, lamps begin to flicker through tree branch shadows.

It is time now, I say, as I rise from the seat where you sit beside me. I hold you, and we move to the spot in the garden. The twilight sky, filled with light clouds stretching and separating into perfect furrows, looks like the raked soil of a newly prepared bed.

slipping

    from the container

    into violas

    and nodding daffodils

    . . . your final home

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About the Author

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. He writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.

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