The Time of Aspen Falls

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Aspen nodded. “Yeah,” she said. It was as if some shower of comfort had instantly rinsed away all her anxieties.

  “And now it gets even better,” he said. He bumped the turn signal, slowed down, and made an easy right turn.

  They were on a dirt road now. Aspen couldn’t see anything but the road and an occasional rabbit skittering across it.

  “Where are we?” Aspen asked. What could possibly be way out in the middle of nowhere?

  “This is where I bring all my victims,” Rake said, both hands on the wheel, for the terrain was fairly rugged. His eyes widened, and he added, “This is where I bury them all.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me,” Aspen said, smiling at him. The pickup hit a bump, and she grabbed onto the door handle for extra support.

  “Well, sure,” he admitted. “You accused me of being a serial killer. You deserved it.” He chuckled and braked to a stop. Taking the key out of the ignition, he said, “Come on.”

  Rake opened his pickup door and stepped out. Ducking his head back in the car for a moment—a dazzling smile on his handsome face—he said, “This is one of my favorite places in the world.”

  Aspen was nervous—torn between trepidation at being so isolated with him and delight for the same reason. Her nerves caused her to pause in getting out of the pickup, and before she knew it, Rake had hurried to her side and now held her door open.

  “Come on,” he said again. “We have to walk to the top of the hill to see it.”

  “To see what?” Aspen asked as she stepped down from his pickup.

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked. He chuckled and said, “You weren’t paying attention to where we were going, were you?”

  “It’s really dark out here,” Aspen said. “We were talking and…I guess not.”

  “And you were too busy wondering if I was going to murder you,” he chuckled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. He seemed unaffected, however—seemed not to be too offended by her musings about him.

  Rake took hold of Aspen’s hand, turned, and began leading her up a fairly steep incline.

  “Don’t worry about rattlesnakes,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s too cool for them by now…I think.”

  “Oh, I’m so very comforted,” Aspen nervously giggled as a shiver ran down her spine. Aspen’s entire arm seemed to warm from the touch of his hand. He was so strong! She could feel the strength in his arm as he led her up the hill.

  “There’s nothing like it,” Rake said as they reached the crest of the hill. Aspen gasped and smiled, instantly delighted as she stood atop the hill gazing out into the velvet night and the lights of Albuquerque below. “Is there?”

  Chapter Five

  Aspen was breathless—suddenly awash with awe and emotion! Oh, she’d always loved viewing the lights of Albuquerque from a distance. Many were the times her family had returned from one of her brother’s basketball or football games, heading in from Gallup or some other city west of Albuquerque. Each time her mother would point out the soft glow on the horizon as they approached the city—the twinkling, glistening pool of sparkle in the desert. She’d always loved the lights. Still, never had she seen them from this particular point of view—from such a solitary place. They were magnificent! The sight of Albuquerque’s countless jeweled lights along the Rio Grande valley below literally took her breath away.

  “I-it’s beautiful!” she breathed. “I’ve seen them so many times—you know, coming in from Gallup—but this is…it’s amazing!”

  She glanced to Rake. He stood grinning, gazing down into the valley with an expression as awestruck as her own.

  “I know. I love it from up here,” he said. “I could sit here all night.” He looked to her quickly and added, “In fact…wait here.”

  “What?” Aspen asked as he turned and hurried down the hill toward the pickup. The night was black as pitch, and Aspen shivered, a bit unnerved without him near her. He returned in a few moments, however—carrying two fold-up armchairs under one arm, kindling and wood under the other.

  “I come up here to think,” he said as he dropped the wood at Aspen’s feet. He pulled the protective sleeves off the two fold-up armchairs, unfolded them, and set them side by side. “It’s so peaceful,” he continued, “nobody to bother you…nobody to want you to do something. Nothing to do but watch the lights and relax.”

  Aspen smiled. He was too good to be true! A man who would rather sit up on a lonely hill at night and gaze at Albuquerque’s diamond lights below, instead of doing the so many other things there were to do for entertainment? How romantic!

  “I’ll build a fire, and if you get cold, I have blankets behind the seat,” he said. Aspen giggled as she watched Rake hurriedly pile the logs and kindling in a circle of rocks that had obviously been used before.

  “You’ve done this a lot, I see,” she said. How else could he have led her to just where a rock fire pit had been built, unless he’d built it himself?

  “All the time,” he said. “And the beauty of it is…my grandpa owns this land, so the state troopers don’t bother me too much, even with a fire going.” He hunkered down and began to light the fire, glancing up at her and flashing a bright, white, dazzling smile. Any girl with less resistance than Aspen would never be able to tell him no—about anything!

  “Go ahead and sit down,” he said as he struck a match on the side of his jeans and held it to the kindling. “I’ll get you a blanket as soon as this catches.” A moment later, the kindling caught fire. Orange and red flames began to lick up around the small logs.

  Rake went to the pickup one more time, returning with two fleece blankets. He handed one to Aspen and draped the other over the back of his chair before sitting down.

  “Ahhhh!” he sighed, stretching his arms out wide before tucking his hands behind his head. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”

  Aspen sighed, snuggled into the warm cedar-scented fleece, and gazed out across the twinkling valley.

  “They say you can see them for a hundred miles from certain angles,” she said.

  “Oh yeah!” he affirmed. “Though it’s more of a glow in the night sky you see that far out. I prefer this…when it looks like some kindergartener knocked over a bottle of iridescent glitter.”

  Aspen studied him for a moment, delighted by his kindergartener and glitter analogy. Again she was struck by the pure attractiveness of him, and not just his physical magnetism. He had personality—loads and loads of it!

  They were silent for long moments—not a sound but the breeze and the soothing coo of a mourning dove somewhere nearby. The lights in the valley below twinkled—winked and sparkled like a fairyland. Aspen shook her head and sighed, overwhelmed by the beauty of it.

  “So,” Rake began, leaning forward and poking at the fire with a stick, “I’ve never heard of anyone named Aspen before. Is there a story behind how you got your name?”

  Aspen grimaced a little. She was always a little reluctant to tell the story of how she got her name. “Kind of,” she admitted.

  When she remained silent—didn’t elaborate—Rake nodded at her and prodded, “Well?”

  Aspen inhaled a deep breath and began, “After my mom got married, she found this poem…‘The Time of Aspen Falls.’”

  “About a place or something?”

  “Kind of,” she said. “I always thought there should be a comma or an ellipsis or something to help the title make more sense.”

  Rake chuckled. “Okay, comma I know, but ellipsis…you’re over my head.”

  “You know…a pause,” Aspen explained. “I mean, you thought it was about a place called Aspen Falls, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I say it this way instead—the time of aspen…falls…”

  He nodded and said, “Oh, I get it. Like it’s time for aspens to…happen.”

  “Exactly!” Aspen giggled, delighted by his understanding. “So my mom liked this poem—she’d always liked aspens; she grew up in C
olorado. Anyway, one day she and my dad were driving up to the Crest, and they pulled over for a picnic. They hiked a ways and found this little grove of aspen, just thriving away on the east side of the mountain. My mom loved that spot. She still goes there a lot when she can. So, when she had me, she named me Aspen, mostly because of the poem she’d always liked…and the aspens themselves.”

  “Do you know the poem?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she answered. She didn’t want to tell him about it, however. It was very sentimental, and not everyone appreciated poetry at all—especially sentimental poetry.

  Rake settled back in his chair and nodded at her. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “For what?” she asked, though she already knew full well what he was ready for.

  “To hear the poem you were named after,” he said. “Recite away.”

  “I-I’m not very good at recitation.” She was nervous. It was quite a romantic poem as well. “And anyway…it’s pretty…sappy.”

  “Oh, don’t be shy,” he said. “Here, I’ll go first.” He cleared his throat and began, “There once was a boy name of Mutt…who sat on a railroad rut.” He paused, grinning at Aspen as she giggled. “Do you want me to go on?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Very well,” he said, trying not to smile. “A big wooden splinter…did break off and enter…his soft little baby-smooth butt.”

  Aspen rolled her eyes. “I’m guessing you made that one up.”

  “I did,” he chuckled. “Here’s another. A nearsighted girl, name of Polly…she liked to eat popcorn, by golly…but sadly misjudged…for her glasses were smudged…and ate up her dear little collie.”

  Aspen frowned and exclaimed, “Ew!” though she couldn’t help but giggle.

  “It’s a gift,” Rake said, smiling. “I challenge you to beat my limericks with a recitation of ‘The Time of Aspen Falls.’”

  Aspen sighed as her insides began to quiver with nervousness. She hated reciting the poem! It was such a beautiful little collection of verse, and she never did it justice.

  “Okay…let me take a breath,” she said.

  “Is it really that bad?” he chuckled.

  “No…it just…here we go.” She looked at him and asked, “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “It can’t be any worse than my limericks, can it?” The warmth of his smile comforted her.

  “I hope not,” she said. “Okay…here I go.”

  Aspen gazed out at the beauty of the glistening city below. She inhaled a deep breath of cooling autumn air and closed her eyes. Closing her eyes always helped whenever she was asked to recite the poem. First of all, it filled her mind with visions evoked by the poem—beautiful, romantic scenes that helped her relax. Second, it meant she couldn’t see the listener—couldn’t see whether they were grimacing or smiling. So, as visions of autumn-leafed trees and the peaceful flow of the river filled her mind’s eye, she began.

  Like a garland of glass, the river

  Meanders on its way,

  ’Mid trees of scarlet and crimson

  Through the valley yon holding sway.

  Yet up on the mountain gypsy,

  As sweet autumn finds her there,

  Lush golden ribbons of aspen

  Tie up her pine green hair.

  And jewels of rubied leaves,

  Of fiery orange and of plum,

  Drip from the tips of her fingers

  As she summons her lover, “Come!”

  For the moon is the gypsy’s lover,

  And no sight makes the moon shine more

  Than her golden ribbons of aspen

  And the rubied jewels at her door.

  Hark! Winter is coming…

  And the time of aspen falls

  Like a bridegroom’s golden coverlet

  As his gypsy lover calls.

  “Come, lover!” cried the mountain,

  “Oh moon of my autumn heart!

  Come fall the aspen upon me…

  Lest golden leaves depart.

  “Weave me a golden bride’s bed

  To slumber ’neath ’til spring.

  As the time of aspen befalls us,

  Lay me on leafy wing.”

  So the moon spread wide his moonbeams,

  As the breadth of her lover’s arms,

  And he bound her there within them

  Safe from bleak winter’s harms.

  “Fear not, my gypsy lover,

  For the time of aspen falls!

  And as ribbons of gold clasp the pines

  So my heart into yours enthralls.”

  Then the moon breathed a breath of autumn,

  And the leaves of the aspen fell

  And covered the mountain golden

  From the peak to the low chaparral.

  “Hold fast, my lover,” said Moon.

  “I’ll keep you from winter’s cold

  In the time of aspen falling

  ’Neath a blanket of aspen gold.”

  Oh, Moon loves his gypsy mountain,

  And the gypsy loves her moon.

  As the aspen rained leaves upon them…

  They bid autumn gone too soon.

  Hence, the time of aspen befell them,

  And winter’s descending was near,

  So the moon wove his fingers of moonbeams

  Through the gold amidst mountain’s hair.

  Thus, ever the moon keeps his gypsy

  As winter’s white snow swathe sprawls,

  And the moon and mountain blend kisses

  As the Time of Aspen Falls.

  As her mind’s visions of the autumn lovers faded, Aspen sighed a deep, relieved breath. She’d finished! She’d made it through reciting the poem without one stammer. With great trepidation, she opened her eyes to see Rake staring at her, a slight frown puckering his brow. He’d hated it! She’d known he would. What man in the world could appreciate such a sappy poem?

  “Wow!” he mumbled. His eyebrows arched, and a complimentary whistle escaped his lips. “Remind me not to recite any more of my stupid limericks to you.”

  She felt better, but only a little. “I warned you it was sappy.”

  “It was great!” he exclaimed, his face suddenly alight with a smile. “It made me want to…to, like…lick your face or something!”

  “What?” Aspen asked with a delighted giggle. Sure, it was a very strange thing to say. Yet it thrilled her somehow all the same.

  “You know what I mean,” he continued. “It’s like…I’m wanting to eat chocolate cake…or pumpkin pie or something. I can’t explain it.”

  Aspen shook her head, confused by his reaction. “You don’t think it’s too sappy?”

  “Sure, it’s sappy!” he exclaimed. “It’s poetry. Poetry is supposed to be sappy. Besides…it’s about trees. What’s a tree without a little sap?”

  Aspen giggled. She knew he was only being nice—trying to lull her into being comfortable again after reciting such a syrupy poem.

  “Do that one part again,” he said. “That one part about his fingers. That part is so visual.”

  “You’re mocking me,” Aspen said, though she was not angry with him.

  “No,” he assured her. “I liked that part. Do it again.”

  “What’s in it for me?” she asked. “Other than further humiliation?”

  He chuckled and then seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve got a Snickers bar in the jockey box of the pickup?”

  Aspen smiled. He was too charming—too adorable!

  “Are you really willing to make that serious of a sacrifice for it?” she teased.

  “Yep!” he said. “But you have to do two stanzas…not just the one.”

  Aspen felt her eyebrows arch with approval. “Stanzas, huh?”

  “Yep. Two of them.”

  “Okay,” she said. She’d watch him this time—keep her eyes open and watch his reaction. “‘Hence, the time of aspen befell them,’” she began, “‘And winter’s descending was near, so
the moon wove his fingers of moonbeams through the gold amidst mountain’s hair. Thus, ever the moon keeps his gypsy as winter’s white snow swathe sprawls, and the moon and mountain blend kisses…as the time of aspen falls.’”

  An approving, pleased grin spread across his handsome face, and he nodded. “I like it,” he said. “I see why your mom named you Aspen. I’m guessing your mom’s a diehard romantic.”

  “Yeah, she is.”

  “And I’m assuming, from your perfect recitation, that it runs in the family.”

  “Maybe,” Aspen said, returning his smile.

  “Do you want your Snickers now or later?”

  “Later will be fine,” Aspen told him. She didn’t want him to leave—not even for the minute or two it would take him to run down to the pickup and get the candy bar out of the glove compartment.

  “Okay,” he said. She watched as his gaze fell to the city lights below once more.

  “But now…I think it’s my turn,” she began. “Rake. That’s an unusual name too. Does your name have a story behind it? Or did your mother have a premonition that it would come to describe you as you grew up?”