Embrace

The First

Only just there,

not yet fully aware,

all is odd, new and bare.

Light is bright,

shadows hazy,

tired of the fight,

sleepy, lazy...

Little worried face

barely alive...

And in the mids of all that is strange and unknown...

ultimate trust is shown...

One, two, three, four, five

tiny fingers wrap around fathers pinky...

Babies first embrace!

Fox

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Twilight time, not light and not dark. Softly nature hums. There is music but no song...only the essence of almost a sound breaking the silence. A gentle breeze whispers through the luscious green treetops; fireflies paint stars: tiny specs that weave in and out misty grey shadows, while the wind plays over the meadows draving patterns under a honeycolored sky, where daisies bow...tired of a day that does not end.

Organdie butterflywings, with crystal-clear pearldrops, dance in a light that looks so unreal, as if fairy dust coats the world.

Here Time chose to stand still...

Hen who brings the velvet darkness, who covers all with the gown of forgetfulness, who wipes away sorrow and gives belssed oblivion... awaits her.

He spreads his arms, ready to embrace... but she bows her head, covers herself with her long blond hair and hides.

Then suddenly she leaps... tiptoes around him, her laughter tickling his inner being. It diverts him, caresses him... she draws closer, not touching and stays out of his reach but does not wander.

He shakes his head, laughs out loud! He knows he will win, as they will come together as sure as night and day.

Still, when the high corn brings back a faint echo,,,doubt creeps in. He tilts his head, a frown, his shoulders tighten. He watches her with curious wonder: her radiance, her gusto for life, her little naughty smile while she waves him back...not yet, not now, not this time, my strong lover... wait! Those deep blue eyes that promise, yet hold back, tantalizingly invite...

He follows reluctantly while she showers her warm embrace over the land and all living things, looking over her shoulder, eyes half closed, bottom lip with that tiny pot.

He is lost, intrigued, annoyed, unsure... he feels as if he entered a forgotten garden that slowly unfolds... new to him, but as old as time. He can taste the magic on the tip of his tongue. She beckons, he comes...

Soft floats her voice , as a sigh over the water:

"No sleep, my love, not now... not while your fingers could maybe caress mine, while your lips should find mine, while the days so close to the restful night holds on... lingers for almost enternity."

And her words sail to him over the dry eastern winds:

"This feels like a night for making love... for making it last... for long deep gazes, eye to eye... for subtle nearly touching... for smiles and words not yet spoken... for loving without holding.

Imagine my love... distance between us, and still feel me near, almost within reach... and let us take this midsummer night to dream together as we have time..."

Foxy