The scent of love

 

In the quiet of night he silently turns, automatically, into my awaiting arms, filling that space that seems designed only for him. The moment is loaded with recognition and gratitude as his scent fills my heart and his body fills my soul. There is no way to describe his smell or how he achieves it, but I know it is only his and would be found by me where ever it is.  The preceding silence is now full of a momentary rapture…a perfect fit…an alignment confirming the rightness of my life, at least in this segment and in this moment.   His hair brushes against my face like a thousand flowers, inhaling my spirit in its unruly thrall, lashing my cheeks with permanence and peace.

The comfort I feel in this moment has been built of many intimate moments that were anything but intimate. I could collapse in his arms, like an awaiting hammock because of his everyday thoughtfulness, his daily considerations, his love eruptions. Though he takes care of himself, he always seems to have me in the forefront of his mind, in the supportive caring way that mothers have with their children. Yet not in the same protective inequality of a parent to child but in a cooperating expectation of like responses, that fills each day with gifts of support.

For some, being together for so long implies acquiescing to a rut of coexistence, a limit of options, a resignation of sameness, but to me it is the opportunity to explore the wonders of the gift of love, the ever-unfolding source of eternal bliss, built on many unexpected moments.

A snowy mission at dawn

I struggled to get the flashlight to work, as we trogged into the increasing darkness of the predawn trek...just twenty feet from our garage and the outdoor lights had faded into a memory of the warmth inside. As we struggled to remain upright in the pristine snow that grazed our knees, while balancing four large pieces of luggage from side to side - one trudging step after the other...following the memory of where the driveway once was - the fear of unanticipated issues of strain wore on me as my heart raced.  The intermittent light of the chilled flashlight sporadically guided our steps around the bend of the drive and down the hill to the main thoroughfare, where friends waited to whisk Joe off to the airport. The predawn slog through the snow became necessary the night before, when our snow plow driver broke down at the base of our long driveway, clearing little snow at all. 

As we finally descended the dark precipitous hill and rallied past the plow truck, mired in a snow bank, the fear of collapsing from a heart attack was replaced by actual exhaustion and the thought of immediately retreading that path became unbearable. So, I took the ride to Albany airport with Joe, to gain some rest and restore my energy before wading my way back up the snow bound hill.  He made his flight, I climbed the hill and am now snug in my snowily imposed retreat. From this vantage point, I remain undisturbed, by any and all, who would think twice about visiting.