At the Gate
My hand hovers shaking just within reach if it's goal.
Dare I?
I want to do it so badly. To open this little bit of wood and metal. To step into the haven of her sanctuary. To invade it like the barbarians of old.
Inch by inch I exert the will that would move mountains yet my fingers demand twice that effort.
The latch is in hand!
I look up then. I can see her. She is bent over in one of the dozens of large flowerbeds. Her hands full of dirt.
She said to come over any time. That she would welcome the help.
I want more than that!
I want her. I want to have her in the warm sun of her backyard. Our skin sweaty and grass covered as we cling to each other. Panting, kissing, hands running wild with passion and lust.
I open the gate.
She turns at the sound. I love the way her face lights up seeing it's me. With a grin she waves me over to her side.
I walk with unsure steps to that place of near worship. I sink to my knees next to the goddess, this woman of divine beauty.
She hands me a small pot and points to the soil.
I smile when I see the slow movements of her fingers.
I nod.
My fingers dig into the warm black earth. I turn to ask something but she is looking up at the white bloom filled dog wood tree above us. I follow her gaze.
The brilliant red bird his little beak quivering sends up a trill of such terrible silence.
I look from the bird to her. Her eyes are upon its silent song watching the beauty and agony of such with a placid look. Like she cares not in the least that the bird's song is silent.
"I love you." I tell her then. "I love you so very much. You have such an incredible warmth and beauty and I want to feel every bit of it against my heart."
I know I spoke the words. I felt my throat vibrate. The bird takes flight at them.
As she turns to look at me I see her smile. She hands me several more of the little potted plants.
I work with a will to please her. I place plant after plant into the soil, and then her hand is on mine.
Looking up I see her lean forward. She points to my work and shakes her head. With little gestures she indicates they need to be farther apart.
My nod hides the fact that my eyes are on the open throat of her blouses. My eyes are locked like they will never be moved from the creamy white hills encased in their snow-white caps of cotton. The tiny spots of her freckles sit upon the hills like trees in fall their leaves given to a thousand shades of reddish gold.
She's grinning when I look up quickly. She glances down at herself then back up at me. She gives me a shake of her fingers.
