Summer. At sunset that August evening,
the sheers flew into the bedroom and
settled again. The grace of birds – my
heart as I loved him.
Autumn. One last night as our favorite
restaurant would be closing until
summer. He stayed like the green leaves
of fall that year – not wanting distance.
Winter. The radiators rattled and hissed,
wheezed and whistled. Our work began
at 1am in the den, the warmest room,
set up to take catalog orders from people
desperate for wire whisks in the night.
Spring: There was all at once an ease of
music playing in the background of our
lives. I realized that since August, he had
been my constant desire.
We had said that by spring we should
know. The pastor warned us it was not
always romance. I tried to explain:
“This man touches my soul as softly as
birds fill their sky.”