They are there, all of them, my little loves. The ones that belong to me. And no matter how far they may wander, freely, over greening hills, amongst flowers and trees, or out in a little boat on a glittering sea, they are never in danger and they are never out of my sight or beyond my arm's reach, never, not ever. They come back to me, happily, smelling of blackberries and nectarine and jasmine and we lay pleased and reverent under the arc of the stars at night, and listen to the ocean kiss the shore, and only sleep for the joy of waking up.
Words are no longer necessary; not even the prettiest ones, like lily and sparkle and aurora borealis. All we have to do is look around and at one another and we know, we just know. It's in our eyes and the turn of our heads and the slope of our shoulders and the way our ankles cross just so--or don't cross, as the case may be. How high we jump and how fast we run and how slow we dance and how soft we sing. Communication perfected, no misunderstandings to be had.
There are lots and lots of people, but still there is plenty of room, and no one is ever irritated to see anyone else. We are either pleased or even more pleased. And it takes exactly however long you wanted it to take to get from here to anywhere else. And it is perfectly warm, except for when it is perfectly cool. Life and Love and Light are there, and we want for nothing.
Lily. Sparkle. Aurora Borealis.
Don't you think?
Oh. Vera. Kate.
ReplyDeleteYesterday I took a sip of your heaven. It was so fragrant and exquisite that I held myself paused, one night, before wading deeper.
"There's something in the way she moves
or looks my way
or calls my name
that seems to leave this troubled old world behind..." {James Taylor}
These words you wrote; I want to swim and swim and swim and never come back from There.
To leave this troubled old world behind.
In your heaven, it almost happens.
"We are either pleased or even more pleased."
So very pleased.
Cathy in Missouri