Onward

you thought a picnic in Scotland would be romantic

and it was

a memorable first date:

soggy sandwiches in the jarring rain

.

I picture the moment, smiling:

a smear of pinhole camera light

streaking through the huddled fog

bundling over the inscrutable black cliffs

of the world’s soaring northern edge

and you

in your green wellies (rubber boots)

grey woolen jacket

and daddy long legs trousers

stretching imagination

holding aloft

best as you were able

those finely packed vittles,

sloppier and sloppier,

slumped as fallen sandcastles

reclaimed by drenching, hungry waters

.

you thought you’d come in, dashing as Connery,

giving us his best Bond but nearly

failed to hold your own

tilting lopsided and goofy against

the heady crosswinds,

your jagged

toothy smile

beaming in stark contrast

to the dismal, gray expanse,

that leading edge wandering off

toward the bent horizon,

your red scarf waving me onward,

toward you

and the rugged, naked North Sea —

its foamy saliva lashing distractedly

at the cold crescent coast

in an ache

lonely

as we once were

.

do you feel it now,

my darling,

rain pelting indiscriminately?

I’ve come to yearn for it,

the sound of water

.

you are my rock,

my steadying companion—

I was blown away,

nearly,

by you unfurling

a blanket against the wind,

presenting your great and cherished bounty:

Earl Gray, English Breakfast, and Chamomile

with sugar, lemon or milk, biscuits of course,

and that battered Stratocaster from Manchester

your baritone carrying,

echoing against the mighty cliffs,

pulling me back

from more than one edge

.

I fell that instant

if you can believe it—

although it took years

to appreciate the love

.

your laughter cut through,

hoisting me

out of the sanctorum of grief

and into the brilliant light

.

you found a way

to make my eyes regard the sun

as a friend

.

you were unsettling,

protagonist of my metamorphosis,

a voice in the darkness

a light in the downpour,

in the loneliest of hours,

you

were there

seeing shards glinting,

inviting me onward,

ever onward

.

that picnic

was the first

of countless perfect moments

fleeting as lesser miracles

that, yes, my darling

I would choose to live through again

and again

and again,

but only with you

***

Copyright © 09/12/2018 by Christy Munson. All rights reserved.