Right now, I miss her. The last time I saw her was Sunday. How appropriate. Only a couple of hours, though—if that. She called to me through the dirty windows, coaxed me outside like I was a cautious cat, then hid herself behind gray walls. What a flirt.
OK, so this time of year is a lean time for this sort of radiant romance. But even so… We are all sunlight and stardust, all solar powered if you trace it back far enough. It’s an elemental pull, something deep within us. How could I resist?
I’m gaining two minutes a day with her, supposedly. She still hides herself, comes out obliquely and diffused, shades of gray, indirect, casting no shadows. Meanwhile, rain seeps into my sun-colored room. Keeps me awake, makes me rearrange things when I should be sleeping.
I miss her energy, heat and passion. The kind that I’m sure I thought was overbearing six months ago when she locked me in. Or did I shut her out? But I missed her then, too, in my dark and breezy prison. I’d sneak out as she began to leave, follow her as my shadow lengthened, chasing her through the Rensselaer County hills, always wanting a few minutes more. Just a few.
2 comments:
"gaining two minutes a day with her, supposedly"
So good.
She's looking through your window now, trying to see if you've written anything else about her, while you're out riding.
I'm always writing while riding. Sometimes I just forget to write it DOWN later. Haiku seem to fare the best.
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