the branch

WINTER IS FADING AND THE FAMILY GATHERING IS RENEWED, held in the place of old origins, this year... Canada, where once the ropes were dropped, chains relieved... and where we now portend to regather lost roots of a family tree.

The branch, as it is and as called, filled in sporadicly as I sat. So did he... and his mum. I could feel old vibes of the last tales of both Cinderella and that Sleeping beauty dumped into my lap so long ago. Here and now, the half turned head that pressed open air against my own space one seat off from his left shoulderpad and top hat that was being slid onto the open seat between us relayed the mesage that the distance of an ocean was still presnet if only to the other side of that cold metal seat. Winter gone, it still made me shiver a conversation lost in ink and airspace. His mum wrestled her bag and crossed her legs at the ankles then tucked them beneath her seat. I copied her move and listened for his response. I had always held high reverance for her and the sister. The boys in the line from that group were testy... like all boys; and now he was a man well past the fifth grade innocence of fairytales. As for Mum, it was as simple as a teaparty with crumpets and doilies. My finger extended automaticlly as I reached for the teacup on the tray passing close to my seat and held by the catering party maid. His arm and pinkie dallied to the half stace, the tray already over his marked space and into mine. I pulled back out of respect for the titles carried and kept my eyes to myself, waiting my turn again. He lifted a cup and pulled it back to himself and set his foot nearest me square on the floor in front of his chair, then tilted his head... chin poised for sipping tea. The tray was extended toward me again and my finger edged toward one of the three remaining cups remaining there. My other hand reached for a wedge of lemon. Both recoiled to drip one into the other... the lemon sending a stray spritz back at me and causing a chuckle from the seat nearest Mum. He cupped the china with his free hand, caressing the bottom as if it would escape, then leaned away toward Mum.

The family meeting went on in the broadspace before us and the crowd dropped what they would into a collection basket for the elected sponsor of the next year's meeting. He was invited up to speak as the newest attendee and as the one who traveled the greatest distance. As he returned to the seat next to Mym and readied to sit his head turned ever so slightly in my direction to which he caught my head's nod and slight tilt with anupturn to the corners of my mouth... a minimal squint to each eye and a hand extending towards his own. As he sat his head turned a bit more and a nervous smile... tight lips drawn so that they were nearly invisible, and he tipped his head with eyes slightly wincing. I lifted the basket once more to continue the collection being serviced for his sponsorship as the nominated host. I lifted it with my check filled out, addressed, signed and denoted with my submission from the bank which had contacted he and Mum so many months ago. The basket tapping his sleeve then touched, grasped by his hand... released to him from my own found its response. His head of frilly blond hair turned toward me, his chest dropping and head dipping after a slow heave to chest vollowed by a slight snort of breath exhaled to acknowledge the basket... the check... the giver's name and the source of forthcoming support that bespoke confidence in his capacity to make it all happen. He could pull the family straight, into the next year and out through what was left behind in the few years before our first contact. Like the reunion pushed forward, he would be the one nominated to pull forth the sorcing of the beginning of men... If he so chose to follow thru. The castle was waiting.