When solitude too deep rests within me,
I go to my window, gaze out at the garden
we share and to the forest I softly coo,
testing the silence…

I hear it….
In the call of the Oriole, as he pauses upon
a bough, invisible to my eyes, screened
by the forests density…. I know his beauty.

In spirit we link,
together,
merging into the same journey,
sharing in that garden we enter the dreams
of each other seeing “seeds” gone and feeling
“blooms” of coming season,
smelling the blossom unspent;
we listen to the music of this wealth,
the moment is rich, flowing…

felt in a warm nights high tide,
a light touch,
quivering sigh,
side by side in quietude of each other
soaking up precious joy in freely gifted warmth.
Clasped hands unclasp in parting hugs and
tenderly kissed brow, as lips continue to tingle
from the greeting.

On leaving this wonderful garden, inside its gate
I drop my soft kisses and gentle hugs as surprise
“foget-me-nots” to be plucked by his caring hands.

My thirsty soul has drunk from the spring…

in our garden.


8/2001

10/02/2001

Posted on 10/01/2001
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