City Summer...

Angel,

We are now in the early summer with its unsettled weather of sunny and hot or heavy rains...The city has sped up and is ground to a halt under the weight of traffic congestion and construction... Everyone is in a hurry to get nowhere fast...

Summer in the city can be stifling and oppressive... 

It is in the early mornings, before the heat of the day and our shadows are puddles beneath us, that we can find a serenity in this city. Those of us up before the sun move a little slower and appreciate the blanket of eerie quiet. Even the birds seem to be waiting in silence until some unknown signal that turns everything to crowding and chaos.

Today though we will not see much sun, but have our heads bowed or hooded against the rain. Although cooler, the rain makes everything stick to the skin and flattens hair. And because we cannot revel in it, all we want to do is to find some escape...

As I am pulled into the heart of the city, my mind drifts to where I would rather be - even with this exact same weather... to be on a canoe in the warm rain is magical - especially in the early morning... There is a noise and a quiet; motion and stillness, light and dark... water above you and below you... and a joy that bubbles up wanting to escape as laughter...

As my mind drifts, I see you in the bow with the paddle across your lap - back straight, bare armed and beautiful - your head tilted back to face the sky - your hair wet and sticking to your back. You turn to look back at me - brilliant dark eyes and a face smiling with such happiness that it is contagious. We don't speak because the rain makes it difficult to hear - but words are not needed.

We will play in the rain - drenched and goose-bumped - until we are driven back to shelter by weather, hunger, or fatigue. When finally under roof and dry, curled and wrapped in a large towel, I will bring food to you and coffee and myself. We will sit close and talk of anything and everything... and the glow of morning lingers..

Just me..

A biased life...

To The Lady on the Train,

I will call you beautiful - which is not even close to what I see...  and you will call me biased as a response..

I could argue with you until blue in the face and neither of us will be closer to agreeing...

So I will have to live a biased life... because you are truly beautiful.

The Man in the Station

A thousand little moments...

To The Lady on the Train,

Over the past few days there have been a thousand little moments where I wanted to reach out to touch you - to be able to take your hand in mine as we walked - or to trace the line and curve of your spine...I wanted to brush your hair from the back of your neck, feel you tilting to expose more of your neck to me as I placed a slow soft kiss below your ear... I wanted to feel the contradictory softness and strength of your beautiful freckled shoulders...

I wanted you to sit beside me, turning away from me so that you could lean back rest against me...  letting me envelop you and fold you into my arms - and be enveloped in the feel and scent of you... I wanted to hear your voice soft and quiet as we talked - or to hear you sing quietly to yourself... or letting you put your head back to sleep while I watched the sunlight light your face... 

As we rode in the car, I stole glances of you sleeping - your beauty so near and so distant, it left me with an ache.

I lay in bed in my room and thought about you laying in your room... I imagined what it would be like to have you beside me... I imagined the lines, curves, and the curl of you against me... I imagined the press of my palm to your hip, and the sensation of my fingertips exploring your back... I thought about my lips on the back of your knees.. I imagined my cheek resting in the small of your back, and reaching to entwine our fingers...

I imagined the length of you pressed to me and in the darkness we drifted together...

There were a thousand little moments I wanted to show you my wonder of you - and my desire for you...

The Man in the Station