Honeymoon Weather

It is drizzling here today, has been all night, and today is our 27th Anniversary. The weather couldn't be better for it reminds us of who we were and who we have become and so we can delight in each other. My first attempt at poetic prose, written in another time and another place, is below. It speaks about today's weather, and the weather back then, and much, much more...

--- Lord of the Dances ---

A beautiful day started hot, but eased with a tender cool change.
And now a gentle evening breeze weaves its way wistfully
curling about the quiet neighbourhood into our garden, up the path
through our locked gate to break our threshold. There is no knocking.

That unseen elegance, incomprehensible as it is, enveloping as it will,
brushes my moist, outstretched hand busy in its doing. That breath’s
tender caress enlivens arm and wind chime alike, the music
sparkling starlike in the background and
raining life into my journaling world.

Lately,

we’ve been sleeping in the back room, our safe place

butted up under the window, that portal of a unique grace.

Our pillowed heads calm as the night breeze

luffs its random notions of peaceful ease,

lulling into obscurity the day’s tensions and hypnotically

whispering us into sleep’s otherworldly companionship.

And those simple aluminium chimes (I hear them again just now)
answer both the wind’s demand and my desire for a subduing
distraction from the humming drum and clang of daylight hours
(I don’t hear the chimes during the day’s terrors and torments).

Occasionally,

the night rain splashes through the fly screen

onto our faces, perhaps dropping itself into my dream

in some mystical motionless manner (as it has done before),

participating in my sub-conscious meanderings, and later

precipitate weirdly-wild indescribable recollections,

over morning coffee.

Other times,

I have woken and said, “It’s our honeymoon all over again.

You remember, don’t you? How could we ever forget those

drizzling days that tucked us away with nothing else to do?”

I think again of other sheltered moments of sacred communion,

but no day is the same.

Into the many layers of our existence, our experience, our awareness,
arresting intonations appear, modulating the haphazard bones of
disquiet, smoothing ragged wounds, making sense of the absurd.

Sunrise heralds its master, the shafts unmistakably
press my eyes tight until I realise
my refusal leaves me darkened and bound.

In reflection,

morning brilliance bounces off the bird bath

over our heads, splashing the opposite wall

it never seems to touch.

It is not hard, not demanding or formal, just

an entrancing dance of the pond’s hidden shadows

teased out from its shimmering surface

to inspire and to wonder how

such secrets are projected into my life.

No day is the same, nor is any shadow. Intimacy varies with age
and different things touch the previously untouchable. But
the Light remains reliable, unchanging, and the breeze like
the Spirit reminds and awakens my heart to again praise
the Lord for himself and all the dances of his creation.