when time stood still
the ocean roared
and
clouds raced across
the sky
and
the
heavens raged
nature’s fury
nature’s cry
drove the rain into
his face.
needles
stinging
he stood alone and the
salt of his tears melted into the running drops over burning cheeks
he wished
it might have been a
still, a starlit night
but the rain and the
storm were on with all that was...
...and...
...where he saw her
then it had been still, too still,
but for the last shallow breaths coming from her, inaudible almost, had
he not seen the quick rising and falling on her pillows. She was safe here and
the awareness of time only in the letting go and the return to her essential
being...like the dance of the tides they had watched together...no time...there
was no time...
...just silence now ,
comforting silence, holy silence, womblike ...held together in infinite
being....one more time...bound in love...but no time...
...he spoke softly to
her who was no longer there but her purpose now on the edge to somewhere and she turned her
head away from the intrusion in her journeying...he needed to connect...she
needed to let go...there was no meaning in it any more , no need for the togetherness he craved so much ...words
were too much...words were heavy, a burden, words that had been so hard in the
learning and the sharing and so easily spoken, a treasure won and now let go...
....the wind was cold,
it was not yet spring. The first swallows had arrived with a chatter and there was the scent
of Hawthorn in the air, Bluebells
in the wooded clearings as he walked, Red Campion and Queen Anne’s lace in the
hedgerows...the promise of spring
when the dew drops hung heavy and the doves called out loud. He loved
this time of buttercup meadows when the sun warmed his back as he walked with
an easy step. He looked forward to a stop at the inn for a pint now and a drag reserved for that delicious
moment when the pint stood there in front of him and bade him take a sip...he
looked forward to sharing all the gifts nature had shown him so
fully...
...the Inn at Tarr Steps was his favourite
place that he aimed for, he loved it here, he loved the slated roof, the homey
feeling, the grey stone walls where ivy climbed to frame the windows , the gurgling brook, the oak wood
where he first saw a purple hairstreak butterfly. He loved the warmth of the
sunny garden after the cool of the forest... he loved the oldness of it all when
he walked, aware as in reverence to the now and what had been, the last few
steps across the rocky bridge built long ago and he loved the feeling that he was but one in
centuries of weary wanderers who were longing for a hot home pasty and a quiet
pint of Exmoor Ale....
...is when he saw
her...
...her face turned towards
the sun, eyes closed and smiling...
...and...
...in just that moment he knew she would
be his...
he stood and he
watched until she stirred feeling his eyes upon her and
she opened her eyes
and they met somewhere that space
only lovers knew
both smiled
and that first smile
joined them forever...
...is where they began
their journey together...
‘mind if I sit down?’
he asked...
‘no, sit’, she said...
she shifted in her chair and crossed her booted legs....she was a walker too.
she was beautiful
he was beautiful
‘cigarette?’, he
offered
‘thank you,’ she said,
and reached out to him with slender fingers
...it was the smart
thing to do...
the bridge to begin to
talk when you did not yet know one another, inhaling would bridge the space of
silences, exhaling steadying the beating heart...everybody did it then...danced
this deadly dance...
...no harm in it was
there...
...not then, oh no!...
...no one knew it...
...not then...
..and...
...he remembered that sun speckled day
when the new leaves were still transparent enough to let the light through and
dapple and dazzle the mossy ground...
and
he sat , close...
and he was holding her
hand which now lay cold in his in the still point of the moment when
the heavens raged
and
the clouds raced
and
the ocean roared...
...and...
...he stood alone in
the night on the ridge of pebbles that clacked like gunshots and the water
sucked and gurgled in the incoming tide...
...when...
... the salt of his
tears melted into the stinging drops
over
his
burning
cheeks...
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