The Perfect Weather

His love had been dead and gone before she could be his. At least in the legal sense. They had not been able to wed. An unexplainable illness claimed her before he could put a ring of gold on her delicate finger.

Though he was not a tall man, she had been so petite in comparison to him. So small and fragile. Her grave seemed much too big to hold her.

And now he had all he needed to see her again. Journeying to what lay beyond death was not forbidden but if he went to her now there was no chance of returning. He was still alive. So he’d bring her to him instead. She was already dead. Her soul hadn’t yet completely crossed over. He had very little time to communicate with her.

Her grave remained well-maintained. So fresh in comparison to many others surrounding where she lay. He’d brought another fresh pot of marigolds. The death gods might not approve but he couldn’t concern himself with their thoughts and feelings. It would only make him hesitate. And hesitation did not bode well for the task at hand.

He lay the potted flowers on her grave. Took in their colors of yellow, orange, and gold against the backdrop grey granite of her headstone.

The air around him remained still as he chanted.

Despite it being the middle of the day, no animals roamed. Birdsong would have ruined his cadence and the deer he so often liked to see ran fast and far with magic at hand. Not one squirrel made a ruckus in the trees surrounding the consecrated plot of land

Hexes at night asked for trouble; with so much magic in the air, it was hard for any one spellcaster to control it. More difficult concerning the art of necromancy.

A few clouds provided cover from the sun. The perfect weather.

Her grave stayed undisturbed.

The flowers remained. Only one grew at his words.

And then she appeared.

A wisp of white. Billowy like smoke and silken cloth.

It had taken him two days to gather up the nerve to try the spell. The same one she’d taught him on their first date. The only one she knew and yet could not complete. She was not magical as her family had been. She only knew of their work but nothing of his. How honored he’d been when she’d decided to teach it to him even if it was out of the blue.

And now he could tell her goodbye and did not know how.

She spoke for him. “I’ll miss you on the other side.”

How odd for the gossamer wraith to sound like her when her essence did not resemble her at all. He’d expected it but to see it in person almost made him wish he hadn’t cast the spell. He’d wanted to see her. Even now, he only heard her instead.

“You’ll see me again properly one day,” she said.

He knew and believed her but still it did not make the matter any easier. For once in his life he regretted being so young. He had a lifetime ahead without her.

“Is there nothing you wish to say to me?” she asked. Her tone sounded annoyed.

Even dead she found the time to be irritated at him. He regretted every word he’d ever spoken to her in anger and so he said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” she asked.

“So many things.”

There was no time to name all the things he was apologetic over. The mere minutes he could keep her spirit channeled to her grave was not nearly long enough.

The white wisp of her spirit flowed almost invisible in the light of the sun as he stood across from it.

“There’s one thing I need to tell you,” he stated

The air stilled as her spirit listened though primed to join the great beyond.

“What is it?”

“I won’t forget you.”

“I’ll know if you do,” she said and was gone.

The marigolds he’d set upon her grave wilted.