I don't wish to tell you something. Neither to teach nor inform, neither murmur nor cry out. But to gambol with you in twilight, where life is perspectively a gamble, where each weighted texture holds deeper resonance, fuller meaning.
I flew to you on morning wings. Headed east, skipping the pulse and hum of work and of all that moves beribboned on highways below. Hearing the hum of refined mechanisms granting life and breath above the clouds.
I flew because my heart expanded long ago to hold yours, and yours to hold mine.
When I'm on the ground out west, enclosed and driving and listening, I imbibe the music of eons so recent, days that turned to dusk behind the steady arms of trees, shadowed and waiting, longing as I did, as I do when driving, for fullness, for all that new daylight might bring. My goodnights whispered in years past - to wide maple torsos, tall cedar flounces, aging apple expanses - were gilded by lingering beauty I couldn't hold onto but perhaps could embrace, as winters went by, as my sighs escaped into each evening's passing when the drapery cord finished the scene. I would turn to you, seeking to grasp the flow of your wonder, heads on pillows and eyelashes closing. The kisses you blew me; I tucked them away, and I flew to you, will always fly.
I carry you home, embracing new wonder: the new scenes unfolding of you, sighing, whispering, working through fleeting beauty at the task sustaining us all, small arms enwrapping, quick smiles above legs prancing and romping until all is night.
I flew to you on morning wings. Headed east, skipping the pulse and hum of work and of all that moves beribboned on highways below. Hearing the hum of refined mechanisms granting life and breath above the clouds.
I flew because my heart expanded long ago to hold yours, and yours to hold mine.
When I'm on the ground out west, enclosed and driving and listening, I imbibe the music of eons so recent, days that turned to dusk behind the steady arms of trees, shadowed and waiting, longing as I did, as I do when driving, for fullness, for all that new daylight might bring. My goodnights whispered in years past - to wide maple torsos, tall cedar flounces, aging apple expanses - were gilded by lingering beauty I couldn't hold onto but perhaps could embrace, as winters went by, as my sighs escaped into each evening's passing when the drapery cord finished the scene. I would turn to you, seeking to grasp the flow of your wonder, heads on pillows and eyelashes closing. The kisses you blew me; I tucked them away, and I flew to you, will always fly.
I carry you home, embracing new wonder: the new scenes unfolding of you, sighing, whispering, working through fleeting beauty at the task sustaining us all, small arms enwrapping, quick smiles above legs prancing and romping until all is night.
3 comments:
Dear Deanna, this posting is extraordinarily lyrical, but I'm not sure to whom you are saying this: your husband? And if so, has something happened? Please let me know. Peace.
Hello, Dee. Thanks for connecting, and for caring. This was off the cuff, free form, pretty much, after a week my husband and I spent with our daughter's family. So it goes without much direction to my children, who are both now living the ongoing family life that we struggled and wept and loved through as they grew up.
I think I read that you are focusing more on blogging relationships, which is so healthy and so you. I have reached a point of mainly connecting via Facebook, just because it's what I can get to, during a time very much full of church and work and family. I don't know if I'll blog anymore; probably at least not for a little while. I'm contentedly puttering along amongst used books, parental appointments, phone calls with children/grandchildren, and, just this week, getting to know a new kitty. Hope you are well and encouraged in many ways!
Dear Deanna, you are busy and I'm so glad you are taking care of yourself. I've decided to post less and visit fewer blogs, However, I will keep writing my manuscripts--but only on the days when the characters call to me! I, too, hope you are "well and encouraged in many ways." Let us live in gratitude and contentment. Peace.
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