Somewhere in time…

Somewhere in time we will depart from our conventional lives, so that we may chase after exotic pirates that lead us toward unfamiliar destinations. We will hunt for their precious ntreasure only after learning their songs and sharing a dance or two. With pockets full of their booty, we will skip barefoot along the shoreline, pants rolled up to our knees, damp from the tide’s incoming splash.

Somewhere in time…

We will hunt for overlooked beauty found in pieces of broken glass and bits of shells. Perhaps we will stumble upon a few spectacular oddities, too. We will save time to wonder what form these glorious but strange findings used to be, what whole they belonged to, what they could be now, will be now—now, that they are free from the way they used to be.

Somewhere in time…

We will wake up early on Sunday, when the birds are the only ones talking to one another. The world will still be too asleep, too groggy, too self-absorbed to notice just about anything else. We will wake early because we know this is that sacred, blessed time primed for uncovering secret gardens–secret gardens that you and I both know exist but never speak about out loud.

Somewhere in time…

bubbles

We will meet every Thursday evening, underneath a cascading willow tree that sips from a familiar creek. We will sit, side-by-side, with elbows loosely linked, on a large moss-covered rock. It will be perfect. It will be safe. It will be quiet—except for the random song of my favorite bird and for the wind whispering secrets about me into your ear.

We shall sit and ponder quietly and contently, all the while anticipating and hoping what is to become of us, what whole we might become now—now that we are free from what we used to be.

And, in between laughing about nothing and sighing about something, we will rest and reflect and learn how to love a little better, love a little wiser, love a little deeper.

Somewhere in time…

You will tickle my soul with a simple look. You will build desire with a longer than normal glance—a glance that suggests hope, that suggests promise for much, much more of something simply wonderful that could be. A promise that is revealed only in dreams handed out at dawn and promised at dusk.

And, as we laugh a little more before moving on from underneath that willow, we would leave behind the bones of who we used to be. We will bury those fractured and frail bones in a shallow grave. And those same bones will crumble and turn to dust in order to nourish both the daisies that once tickled our feet and the orchids that left us breathless upon our first meeting.

Somewhere in time…

I will write my secrets down on parchment, seal it with wax and place it inside the hollow of our willow tree. It will rest there, waiting for you to find on some sweet, auspicious day. You will read and pause, perhaps savor the intent and the revelation. While you read, the sprites will tickle me endlessly at the thought of you, the thought of what you are discovering in that very moment–the thought of you knowing what lies buried within my heart.

And, maybe, just maybe then, you will free yourself to smile a little longer, a little closer, a little softer. And, maybe then that sweet smile of yours will finally turn into a kiss. Maybe. Just maybe.

And, when that time comes, that some glorious, maybe, somewhere in time comes…

You will share a sacred secret you haven’t allowed yourself to trust, to believe in before this moment. You will give it to me, to yourself, to the universe, openly, willingly…surrendering, finally.

But, if you grow too bashful, too embarrassed in that some day, that somewhere in time…

We could always pretend someone else wrote that declaration, and that same someone else found our hiding place. And, when our cheeks blushed, we will be kind to one another and agree that this great fib is a truth only you and I know.

Somewhere in time…

We will both realize in the unspoken rest between heartbeats, just how special and rare what we have truly is. And, we will live the rest of our days never speaking again of what was hidden in that willow tree—at least not with our words. It would live among us, flitter about us, like magic, like eternity, like love.

Somewhere in time.

May your small light ignite something grand, as it only can….
Autumn