You You are the scent of new-mown hay or grass in the dusk of the day when the peepers are in full orchestration. You are fireflies rising to Morse code the landscape as your conversation flits from this to that and it doesn't matter because it makes sense to us. You are sonorous rumblings stitching the night together as you sew a blanket of sorts to wrap me in your warmth even as you keep me awake. You are the scent of Saturday morning coffee when there is no need to rush off and we sit talking as if we hadn't seen each other for weeks and we've so much to tell each other. You are complex and jumbled like your garage that will never be empty enough to fit a car inside: all the parts of you scattered and yet, somehow, fitting together. You are a song wafting through the day and the two-step that follows as you whisk me around the dining room table singing slightly off-key but never forgetting the words. You are the sound of drums, the heartbeat of our music as you play out the song list that is our story. The order never matters, as long as you play. You are more steadfast than the bravest of soldiers-- a constant as day follows night, as inhale follows exhale. You are that air I breathe. You are a Friday night fire as you sit on your stump, long fire stick in hand as you rearrange the logs, your face reflecting the flames, breathing in the night. You are quiet mornings deep in the forest, bow resting but ready in sure hands backed by keen eye. You are both provider and sustenance. You are Sunday morning doughnuts dropping bits of glaze for the dog, laughing until tears fall over her antics or our conversations. That timeless space between words and meaning that is full to the brim. You are a circle-- photographs from sixty-some-odd-years ago mirrored in the face of a great-grandson who carries your name and is you all over again. You are a treasure wrapped in magic, the deluxe fireworks finale, the flag flying high at the start of the parade and waves crashing ashore after the storm. Every other beat my heart beats is you. |