Sparkling Through

The time we remember is the time that is taken out of the stream like something found sparkling through the water, something like a special or precious stone, something kept and held in that special keepsake place we turn to when the world is turning against us.

Here the day grows up around us as we wait for all our lives to become something we can feel inside of, rather than something that goes on around us.

A stone in the path makes us stop and bend down, but it turns out to be nothing of significance.

We walk on to the bridge that crosses the stream, an old stone bridge, green with age and shadow under the tall trees all around it. Beneath it, the stream moves on shallow and lazy. Clear enough to hold no secrets. Still, the water has a hold upon us that makes us watch, and wait for nothing to happen.

I have been here before waiting for that moment when you turn to face me, pressing close so I can feel your heat through your thin clothes. You will - I know – take me by the hand to a place where you can leave those clothes behind and walk on down into the water.