The sound of a hundred birds wafted slowly in the air as the sun rose gently from far behind the distant mountains. They flapped their wings, singing a sweet lullaby and moving in choreographed melody, their feathery plume shimmering in the arching rays. The benign breeze swept over the somnolent springy turf and skimmed through the waves of the river. Darkness surrendered to the verdant hues of gold and a brilliant blue loomed in the skies like a bizarre sorcery. The birds disappeared into the clouds, their calls fading away adagio.

Tranquil waves kissed his feet as he sat on the pier, mesmerised by the mellow crack of the dawn.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said to his daughter who sat next to him on the dock. “You know what, Grace?” he said, his eyes averting from the ether, “this reminds me of the day when you were born.” His cheeks welcomed a warm smile as his grey cataract eyes filled slowly. Wrinkles adorned his face like layers of clean muslin. His hair wasn’t combed, his face wasn’t shaved and his clothes were all puckered. He had a visage that had seen more of youth than age.

“It happened at this hour,” he said drawing his breath “in the dulcet December, when the indolent sun rose late, and dawn lined the horizon in faint yellow. You never troubled your mother even then.” He let out a chuckle and turned towards Grace. He wished she would say something but she remained silent, like a sundial in the shade.

“Have you noticed the sparks of sienna fires that burst and flew up when blown?” he smiled “That’s how your eyes were when you first opened them. Your hair was a shade of taupe brown, just like your mother. Oh, Grace, I have never seen her happier.” He rubbed the side of his cheek with the back of his fingers.

“It is odd, is it not?” he sighed “how fast time flies, how swift things happen.” He paused to draw a breath, trying in vain to control his tears that rolled down his cheeks effortlessly.

“I know it’s going to be a beautiful place,” he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight for one last time. “You’ll get to see your mother,” he bit his lip and shut his eyes tight as they waded towards the shadows of the willows. Tears squelched on his lashes when he opened them. It wasn’t dawn anymore; perhaps it will never be, he thought.

Sitting on his knees, he opened the urn, scattering her ashes into the river. They seeped through the water and vanished in seconds. He longed for someone to cradle him into their arms as he broke into hysterical tears.

“I’ll meet you there, Grace” he gave out a sigh, almost a whisper, barely emotionless. He brought his legs close to his chest as a warm pallor spread on his face. A vacant expression fathomed to be a smile took shape on his face as the word escaped from his mouth—“Sayonara.”

It is odd, is it not? How fast time flies, how swift things happen.

His name is Chad or Brad. His legs are splayed out on his chair in Starbucks; his backwards baseball cap placed carelessly and yet carefully on his head, for added bro effect. His shorts are slightly above his knee, his shirt is ironic or related to sports. He is on his phone, probably on Tinder, swiping mostly right as he waits for his iced coffee. He has two side girls who don’t know about each other. He is working for a bank, maybe hedge funds. He has stubble and looks like he just rolled out of bed. Maybe it’s just his typical Tuesday morning before hitting the gym. Anything latte related would have been too girly, and he laughs confidently and yet nervously. He is not quite self aware, might never be: that is the tragedy of his life. Are all bros this cavalier? He is. He loves it and yet keep swiping, his sole goal to pursue as much as he can, because he can.