Sun, rain, wind and clouds

She has rain in her, at least she did, but her forecast seems tenuous. It is impossible to discern her black from her blue, for they are both always present; fleeting and flickering too quickly in some moments. Yet, warm and bright blue are always possible, for long, extended periods, like hope without certainty. The weather of a woman should not be so unpredictable, yet I forecast her unfairly. Her sun smiles, with a hand taken, or a kiss given, or a shoulder offered. though it his her offerings that most accurately predict. Her fingers pulling at my beard, or her cheek rested at the back of my shoulder portend high pressure systems, blue skies, and soft, warm winds. I suppose it is synchronistic...entangled light with proximity, yet weakened with distance, like gravity. All is right together, yet low pressure looms with every drive away.

I suppose that I am a man who likes unpredictable, the grey that comes at the onset of curiosity. I like the uncertainty of the process; the path of drawing back the curtains of discovery; the intensity of revelation; the boundless surprise of loving what you find.

And that is what she offers me; that is what makes me happy. I believe that I offer the same things, although I am not unaware of my shortcomings. There is an ease in the love we share; comfort and contentment certainly, but it is more. Whether it's birds and dragons in the sand, or the hunt for the marbled murrelet, or the promise of other, infinite adventures, there is easy excitement in loving her, and yes, being loved by her. It is as easy and momentous as blinking, and it is adorned with intense and urgent desire. It is easy because it is simply there, magically created in the brush of an eyelash, or in every new greeting.

On the outside, I may not seem to offer a future, but I know...I just know...that we offer each other an endless string of moments filled with joyous revelation. It's not the hokey pokey, but it is what it's all about. That's what love is...that's what life is.