Mara shook her head at the sight. Wellies abandoned on the path, umbrella too. Tears pricked her eyes, pride, sorrow, relief combined. She had known this day was coming ever since Naida’s birth twelve years ago. Everything in those years suggested her daughter would fulfil her destiny.
Collecting the boots, already with an inch of water sloshing in the bottom, Mara folded the umbrella. Tossing her wet curls, she determined she had no need of the sheltering umbrella either.
She didn’t hesitate. Perhaps she should go home, leave them to it, cradle the grief of her loss and try to forget. But Naida was hers too, and how could she forget? Squaring her shoulders, Mara walked quickly on, following the path to the river, imagining Naida’s bare feet running, splashing in the puddles, every instinct pulling her daughter on.
She hurried around a bend, soaked now between the rain and the dripping trees, and there was the expanse of the river. Here it met the sea, the tide flowing in and out. High at the moment, the grey brown water ruffled by a rising wind. Mara stood on the bank, searching the waters.
A trident broke the surface, the head of the god followed. Mara’s heart jolted. Naida sat on Poseidon’s broad shoulders, strands of wet hair whipping about her head.
Look this way, look this way, Mara silently pleaded. Tears added to the dampness of her skin. Naida’s head twisted towards her, and Mara’s heart filled with aching happiness. Her daughter waved, and then she and her father dived beneath the stormy waters, and were gone.
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Trust Sarah. This was typical of her 10-yearold daughter, thought Melanie, to just leave her gumboots and umbrella in the rain without a care.
She was supposed to be wearing them – and carrying the umbrella as protection from the inclement weather.
It had been raining almost solidly for a month, but Sarah didn’t seem to worry. She just charged off on her two wheels, braving the deep puddles of the bike path, the possibility of fallen tree branches and any other danger that might lurk on her journey.
Her mother’s insistence she wear the gumboots and carry the brolly simply fell on deaf ears.
And here she was, once again – the boots and umbrella left in the rain by the front door while she took off barefoot on her bike, water streaming down her face.
Of course, she would always come back dripping wet and freezing cold and then have to strip and warm her body with a long, hot shower.
Melanie was becoming tired of the excuses. The boots are too big for the pedals. How do you expect me to carry an umbrella and ride at the same time? The implausible reason list was never ending.
“You’ll catch your death,” her mother warned. “Mark my words. And don’t come crying to me if it happens.”
“I won’t, Mum. Won’t be able to ‘cos I’ll be dead,” Sarah replied gaily.
Today had been no different. Boots and umbrella by the front door while she disappeared down the bike track.
An hour, two, went by and no sign of Sarah. Usually she would be back within the hour and rushing desperately to the bathroom for a hot shower.
After three hours, Melanie began to really worry. The light was rapidly fading and it wouldn’t be long before Sarah would not be able to see to find her way safely home.
Another 15 minutes and still no sign of her daughter. Melanie thought, I’ll have to go and look for her – I can’t leave it any longer.
Wheeling her own bike out of the garage, Melanie pedalled slowly in the direction Sarah had taken, ignoring the pelting rain as much as she could.
About 10 minutes into her journey, Melanie discovered her daughter lying beside the bike path under a branch which had obviously fallen as she rode by.
Dumping her bike, she rushed to her daughter’s aid to find her dazed with a cut to the head but otherwise unharmed.
“I’m all right, Mum,” she said. “But I don’t remember what happened – just recall hearing this loud crack then everything went black.”
“It’s ok, Sarah,” Melanie replied. “Lean on me and let’s get you to the hospital to make sure you haven’t sustained a serious injury.”
“But what about the bikes?”
“Don’t worry, we can always collect them later. I’m more worried about you.”
Well, I agree with Sarah re riding in gumboots!!
A story fit to be nectar for the gods – literally!! LOL