Every Summer

He gazed mournfully across the loch at the darkness that was forming on the far side. The short shadows danced along the shoreline. Their steps were quick and intricate as they prepared for their journey across the narrow stretch of still, silent water. A beautiful interplay of light and shade on the shimmering waters to some, but for the man, they were forever the precursor to his inevitable sadness.

"It's nearly that time again."

"We still have a while," came the reply.

Shaking away his melancholy, he turned his attention back towards his companion.

“As always, I’ve written you a poem. Well... a sonnet, actually.”

“Another one?”

“It’s our last day together and... It’s only one poem a year,” he said, a little hurt at her reply.

“I know. But you really don’t have to. Just being with you is enough. More than enough. It really is.”

She paused, smiling kindly at the man who sat on the damp moss before her, leaning uncomfortably up against the trunk of the same, tall pine as he always had. Their meetings were far too brief—just a couple of days each year—but she remembered every line of his face clearly, and was always cheekily keen to point out any new ones that may have appeared over the preceding twelve months. Whilst the girl was unable to fully vocalise her feelings, this was a man she had learned to care about more deeply than anything else in her existence.

“Please read it to me,” she asked softly, kicking her heels aimlessly against the ancient carved stone that she sat upon. "I honestly wish to hear it. I've loved everything you've ever written for me."

He smiled uncomfortably; always wanting to impress her with his oratory, but always concerned that she found this part of their late summer meetings dull or contrived in some way.

He coughed nervously and began fidgeting with a loose thread that hung from his worn, leather notebook—the same one that he had brought with him to this place every year for… well, to him, it seemed like a lifetime. Whilst, for her…? Who knew how the time passed for such a creature?

He coughed once again, sat up as straight as his aging form would allow, and began.

“I’ve done something different this year. It’s a sonnet, as I said, but, um... It’s also an acrostic.”

“How sweet. Does it have a title?”

“I never really thought about giving it one, to be honest. I guess I could call it ’Every Summer’. How does that sound?”

"It sounds perfect."

Grinning like a child at her words, the man cleared his throat once more, stared up at the girl’s face, drawing strength from her smile, and began.

Just as sunlight hits the carven rock.

Under summer skies, you will appear.

Never late, you find me by the loch.

Each day, each moment. You make them so clear.

Jewels to me, your eyes that brightly shine.

Unwavering in their sparkle - in their sheen.

Love, no greater can be found than thine.

Your smile exceeds the beauty of a queen.

And every year, I wish to hold you tight.

Undo the ties that hold you ever here.

Grab you up, and every monster fight,

Until you’re free - no more to disappear.

Such hopes, I know, are always sought in vain—

He paused, struggling to read the scrawled words before him, as a wave of hopelessness and despair washed over his body.

“You can do it,” the girl whispered encouragingly.

Unable to look up at her, the man simply nodded and, breathing deeply, attempted to compose himself.

Such hopes, I know, are always sought in vain.

Twelve months it is, until we meet again.

Tears rolled uncontrollably from his eyes as he finished his poem and closed the tatty leather notebook.

As much as he lived for these brief moments with the girl, the pain of parting from her always hovered above them and, whilst every moment in her company was to him, a joy beyond measure, he always knew that, just two days later, she would leave him again, as she always had.

But that was their understanding - their tacit agreement, and, no matter how much it pained him, he returned every single year to sit beside her and discuss the events that had happened in his life over the previous twelve months.

This year was no different. This year, he had, as he always did, politely declined the offers of his dwindling number of friends and his aging, distant relatives to travel with them, or to visit their far-flung homes. He knew his refusals upset some, and worried others. But this was his life. His only reason for working so hard all year was to ensure that he could make the journey north and visit the remote, Scottish loch, specifically, this secluded cove, and meet with the girl once more.

To him, nothing else in the world mattered.

The girl knew this, and they had discussed it openly many times over the years. Deep inside themselves, they both knew it was unhealthy. That, outside of those two days together, it put a strain on his life and his relationship with those around him. But she was no more able to break their annual tryst as he was - and nor did she wish to. No matter the consequences, she was as bound to this man as he was to her.

She smiled sadly at the old man opposite, knowing that each trip, each year, the journey was harder, and the difficult, sometimes treacherous trek to visit her took him longer and longer. She understood too that, one day, he would no longer come. That, through infirmity—or death itself—he would be unable to do so. She hoped beyond all hope that that day was in a distant future.

Eventually, his sobbing ceased and he wiped his face dry with his sleeve.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” the girl asked.

“For spoiling—.”

“Hush now. Nothing is ever spoiled with you. Nothing is ever broken when we are together. You live for these days, I know that. And I also cherish every moment that we share. I feel different when I am with you. I feel...”

She paused, contemplating the wisdom of her next sentence.

“I feel… alive.”

He turned to her, the sad smile of the girl reflected in his own face.

“If only that were true.”

By now, the sun had dipped below the distant trees that bordered the loch and, as the lengthening shadows crept along its iridescent surface, the girl sighed.

“It will soon be time to go.”

Filled with sadness now, it was all he could do to even nod in acknowledgement.

“I will see you next year, won’t I?” she asked falteringly.

He chuckled in reply, but there was no humour in the sound.

“Not even God, in whatever variant is currently the most fashionable at the moment, could stop me,” he lied, knowing that this would be his last visit to these shores.

He leaned forward and, hesitantly, placed the notebook beside her.

“In all these years, I’ve never told you this, but... From that very first instant I stumbled across you, I have been in love with you. You do know that, don’t you?”

She smiled sweetly at him and laughed lightly. For a moment, it seemed like the shadows ceased their slow advance towards them, allowing them an extra, illicit moment together. For an instant, it was midday on that first day again and the entire afternoon lay before them. For a moment, he was young and strong once more, and they were meeting here, at the rock, for the very first time, nearly fifty years ago.

She reached out towards him, her hand scant inches from his aged face. “You silly thing,” she replied. “Of course I know. I've always known.

She paused. "And, in the same way you know that… that I…”

She stared across to the shadows that, regardless of the enormity of their conversation, crept relentlessly towards them.

“Goodbye,” she said simply.

The first sliver of shadow touched the base of the rock and, still smiling affectionately at the old man, the spirit creature faded, returning to the ancient carved stone that, in a way that he had never learnt, she could escape from for just two days of the year.

The shadows moved deeper, seemingly faster now as they crawled towards the old man who sat motionless against the trunk of the tree, a single salty tear trickling down his face. Their touch had stolen away the girl; returned her to whatever realm in which she was trapped, but, as they reached him, and enveloped his body in their indomitable march forward, they did nothing to him.

Whatever magic bound the girl to that carved stone had no power over the corpse of the old man who sat, for the final time, at the base of that tall pine.