Dear Elinor
Dreams of you. For years I’ve gazed at your sweeping curves and how you hold the light. For years, I’ve dreamed that we might someday meet up and I might know you close up and intimate. I dreamed it might be like the first time again. Sometimes I would imagine that we were together in a past life, the way you seemed to be at once familiar, but distant. To look at you from afar, was to stare across worlds of being, moments of presence that would send a shiver up my spine. But you were never easy… living on the other side of the trees. Oh sure, I tried a couple of times to come find you. Each time, though, I was denied, left to wallow in a wall of poison oak that denied me access to the waters of my desire. Oh, I know you’ve entertained many. And they come from far away to sit in your bosom but they move on, leaving you alone, empty. Oh, to find the path to your heart.
The obvious. The walk to your home should have been obvious years ago. And, this time, I immediately knew where to go.
When we met. The fog was lingering low and thick along your length that morning. Step closer and there you were stretched before my eyes. Your are more lovely up close than I dreamed. Sparkling emerald eyes – your long, slick lines slide easily into the broken waters where fresh steelhead might lie. Lined with rubble from a nearby creek, you give home to a thousand lies. And, you call me in, beckoning me to immerse myself in your soul. Each cast-swing-step and we mumble sweet nothings to one another, and occasionally a long “mmmmmmm” is whispered. It is only with my undivided attention that you give up your secrets. Here and there, the life you hold in your heart comes to me, shining bright in the muted light of a fog-bound sun. I might count them one-by-one, or just call this morning with you one long fluid motion of your presence. We hold one another, dance, and whisper the sweet nothings that I’ve dreamed of for years. As we go, you are better with each step. Finally, I muster the courage to leave you when the first hints of an early afternoon breeze ripple your calm waters. We turn our back, knowing full well that we will meet again soon enough.
Shaken Rain 