Fourth Uncle (and Aunt): 174 Series Part 2

Usually a stoic and intellectually wise figure, many opine my uncle as a rather reclusive wallflower.

To anyone’s astonishment, he is conversant when you allow him the space and equal the serene energy. His dialect remains unmatched, and worthy of being heard. It needs a flowery font and sallow hued papers to be inked. A mahogany fireplace, a bordeaux lounger and a velvety pen.

Splendid.

Temperament is an heirloom among my larger family, yet his has a tenacity to which elephants might swirl their trunks and flutter their ears. The least eligible candidate to sound a bellowing, sky bound thunder.

Even my aunt, his only companion.

Only calibrated, clarified. No off trailing.

Even with the contraries, they are alike.

I discovered once that grounded people are reliable. He is too.

We have a wide chasm of singularities and ideologies, but the bridge of empathy and goodwill is iron clad. Even more potent when it comes to his elder daughter and my sister.

 They are two sides of one coin, but we aren’t.

We are both water lilies and two children reading a book.

In frankness, he is another father I am bestowed with, and my aunt I would tread blindly to in affliction, for whom most would count themselves blest, if they were to have such pair. I am aware that I am.

He (and she) are one of the fewest presences in my forlorn, accursed existence I want to linger more than a scent of an eventually distant past.