Thursday, October 16, 2008

8 o'clock and All's Well

This story came out of a very intense daydream I had about 30 years ago. I saw it all as if I was living it. It poured out of me in this format with very little editing needed.

8 o'clock and All's Well

Mark Lewis

I see a warm wood dark brown cabin, filled with light, hiding high in the wild.

You sit close by in wool wrapped quiet reading.

A fire sings softly to itself within the hearth.

I stand from my story-strewn worktable and stretch as I roll down my plaid, flannel shirtsleeves. I walk to the French doors and open them.

As I step out onto the porch, the winter welcomes me and teases every seam of my shirt as if to say, "Where is your overcoat?"

The view down the valley is wall-to-wall white with chimney-born serpents of smoke licking at the quieting sky.

A Jay, with his formal blue tails intact, arrives a bit over dressed for dinner at our bird feeder suspended from the eves of the cabin.

The world below winds away slowly into sunset.

The snow crunches cold between my fingers as I lean forward onto the porch railing and fling my breath on the wings of mists into the twilight.

I inhale a deep sigh and with it comes the colors of the winter - the pine, the snow, the stillness and the clean. I hold that rainbow of scents within me.

I close my eyes and listen to my heart as it beats out a sure and steady life within me. With my eyes still closed, I exhale and I hear my heartbeat chime in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.

A wint'ry wind whistles past my ear, tugs at my hair and tries to snuggle it's icy cheek under my beard.

Then I feel your hands on my face as you "shoo" the vagabond breeze from your special place under my chin. I open my eyes to find you standing close beside me.

As my arm circles about you, you cup up closer to me and wrap your warmth around my waist. We stand as one and listen as the twilight sings the anthem of the evening which, in turn, ushers Night into his throne of darkness.

The stars chuckle holes in the fabric of the sky and the warp and woof clouds thread off to sleep.
I turn to you and we look into each other. Your eyes hold secrets soft and safe and I would gladly drown therein.

You take my hand and lean up on tip-toe to my ear. With warm words you whisper,
“Tea's ready.”

“I love you ...”, says I and your kiss catches the "..ou" of you and we stand forever in that moment.

Night smiles down to us as we turn and re-enter the warmth.

The cat sniffs the last threads of night as the door hushes home and the grandfather calls out,

“Eight o' clock, and all's well.”

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