Rainbowcadenza

I love the stranger who sits before me at the table in the café. We sit so formally, our conversation polite, reserved, safe. How odd that just a few (long) months ago without a second thought I would have reached for his hand, Or brushed my leg against his beneath the table. His face, once so familiar I can no longer read. I barely know this stranger before me And yet my feeling of love Hangs heavy in the air between us. Awkward and self-conscious Not knowing what to do with itself. I do not fear that this stranger will steal me away, But rather that I will know him less and less, Until I cease to know him at all.

Had you been God the earth would be formless,                                             Darkness would swirl on the face of the deep.        No light would come forth to breach the endless                                  

One small step.  No way back!

As if to a lodestone, he had been drawn to the old mill in a way that he could not fully fathom. Certainly he had been seduced by the juxtaposition of its austere beauty with the pastoral idyll over which it appeared to stand sentinel. Monolithic it surveyed the land through its many watchful eyes; the mill race that tumbled into the river to join its gently meandering course through acres of lazy meadows. Along the river banks, the supplicant willows that bent in reverence to its resplendence and the bulrush frilled mill pond where dragonflies danced and swans glided upon its reflection. But there was also something about the tall redbrick b

We imagine our lives without responsibilities.

Knitted brow, unravelled by his answers.

How I love to wake beside you,      The sun's first tendrils stealing over your face,     Searching, exploring with tentative, intimate grace.    Tinsel strands of golden lashes    Flutter the restful rhythm of sleep, Your breath a gentle whisper of thoughts beyond day's reach