A SPEECHLESS LOVE SCENE

Once, during one of my times of deepest trouble, I had a surprising view into another's world.

It is printed indelibly upon my memory, a stained glass illuminata of the past moment when I saw two lovers locked in earth's desiring.

This one brief moment, an open formata, a break from the ordinary, happened on one of those spring mornings when the weather could not have been finer. 

I record it here as I felt it then........

Spring came suddenly to the fore that year, following a prolonged snow season. I hadn't thought of it as having been so near to hand. And, though there would soon be later snows to follow, spring did beckon at every window. All the world seemed lifted or retired from ordinary or mundane trains of dull or idle thought.

I felt a sparkling impulse to skip, run and play as I had in childhood, to roll over the vibrant grasses till wet with green. Above me, the sky arched her curvilinear fresco of storybook blue, all clear and glowing.

Carrying a full to brimming wastebasket in the crook of one arm, I closed the front door behind me with my free hand and stepped out into wonder. A fresh breath of spring pressed its cheek against my own, flirting carelessly as it roamed about my ears, only to gaily move off to shake an idle bough beyond a neighboring fenceline.

I crossed the already warming sidewalk, sighing with relief to be outside in such a fresh, new beginning as this day was.

Though I lived in one of the poorer parts of town at the time, yet even here there was relief for the eye. What space there was to be yet gardened was already crowded over by the latest pottings bought for planting. The first of the flowers that year, tho' tinged with frost, had hung about for a week and more. Yet, none of these could be more worth recalling than what would follow their myriad excitement. 

As somebody wise had had the forethought once to acknowledge we must have beauty on our street, I felt appeased at the fruit trees then flowering.  It was a time of gestation for me, for I contemplated a whole new life, though unsure of how that might yet evolve. Hope was a wavering candle then and there, soon to be put out by the vagaries of a society undone all too quickly by its lack of caring. And yet I had discovered the spot where I then would dwell, and for about a year, quite by accident--if there are such things, if life can be said to be at all accidental.....

A hush had fallen over the neighborhood. The fall of leaves from the previous year had left a filmy, brownish sludge along the pavement line, bound to be washed away later by spring showers. I stepped over this with care, onto the gritty pavement. Along the sidewalk's edge, enquiring ants roamed, one small platoon exploring. 

Cutting a straight line toward the enclosing area around the nearest dumpster, I followed a path others had taken before me, the one of least resistance. Yet, it was only here I began to discern something had shifted on our street, something so subtle it would have to be found out. I vowed to be available for the reveal.

I was humming now, a smiling sort of tune cut fresh from a heart touched by a momentary respite.  Slipping inside the trash enclosure, I hauled the wastebasket to shoulder height, and tipped the contents into the growing pile trapped in the dumpster's gullet. My natural disgust was quelled by the tunefulness of everything about me, which began to tug me away from my chores to come. The morning mail would wait; likewise, the phone calls I had planned to make.

Just steps away, lay the breathtaking moment, yet I knew then only of spring's draw into the open air.

All about my thoughts the cheerful tune played, while mind and throat were hushed.

There, before my hungry soul, lay feast of appetite which halted me.Here, sang the breezes, here let you rest your mind.  

That first glance told so little, and yet how it did captivate me!

There, bedecking each branch and bud as candles do the dark, a clustering ballet of butterflies. Four trees altogether, sporting exhortations of sweet blossoms, some backlit, others cast all in overglow, vital, dancing white. Upon these played each butterfly, dozen upon dozen, dazzling to the eye.

Then beneath these--oh, such a vision! I drifted in close with my two eyes only, barely daring to breathe, for fear I would break a moment so holy. 

Like a tender refrain , so soft and lilting as to be almost indiscernible, this vision held me in its thrall. I remember I stayed rooted to the spot, the now empty wastepaper basket dangling from one limply hanging hand.  

Cascading blossoms, soft Monet dabs of bruising cream white, a pattern random yet significant to punctuate the shadows playing on the sidewalk beneath each branch. Above, flights of fluttering burnt orange fury in haste to sip at any and all remaining nectar. I spotted more than one fight aloft, quick, darting battles soon resolved by the giving way of one unto another, all in a hurry.

And in between these two opposing paradigms lay a certain paradise, private, yet so openly held.

The two were deep in reverie within each other. The kiss had had its beginning since well before my eyes could leave the playful riot above. A long sip of nectar, so quiet and yet so earnest, there it lay between them. She, with her girlish, slender form draped across  the knees of her lover, whose dark hair stilled itself above her quiet, empassioned face.

I held my breath, not daring it to end.

In truth, I knew it would. Better to save the moment, the young couple's privacy, and all their earnest charm, to memory.

Better to call myself back home, where nothing of this sweetness would avail the eye.

Better to waken no one out of her reverie, lost in a kiss so deeply felt I knew it bloomed upon her like so much  heaven.

Like butterflies gathered in ecstatic flight upon their fragrant feasting place.

Like so much peace on earth. 

The sacred moment passed. 

I left before it could be brought to a close, never to be found out, the secret voyeur of their love's tender portrait. And thus I now do hoard the richness of that hour. A dragon's share for memory, I put it by me now, a gift of a thought to share, one of nature's pure desiring and love's refreshing sigh.

Top photo credit goes to

http://www.laspilitras.com/classes/pictures/American_painted_lady

2nd photo credit goes to

http://www.natomasbuzz.com/2009_04_01_archive.html 

A Spring Memory To Be Savored 

copyright 2010 The Poor Woman's Almanack