There’s a sough through the treetops of the pines ( Archived) (4)

It’s summer, late night, the blackbird song of the park from other side of these rooftops is since long silent. Heaven’s splash of golden glitter, earlier today passing through the thin almost invisible clouds, is of this day’s past as well. Debussy’s Clair de Lune, a magic kind of music, moves through the room, sways between the walls.

Yes, it’s summer, the mute swan lowed down the bay, but no more does it low. Flowers and green grass soften my paces, a carpet under the footsteps. It is the time for love, a time to invite someone for loveable kisses, and an embrace which keeps her safe, near, at peace whatever turmoil the world might offer elsewhere.

It’s not a time to be cheap with amorous offers, I will not be.
While love-hungry crowds pass by in search of passion and a cure for their pain, their longing for someone they’re yet to have is so evident, it’s time for me to devour her lips, sink deep into the delight of knowing that I’m lost on purpose in every reason she gives me to lose myself in her.

There’s a sough through the treetops of the pines outside, which reminds me of a special air. My head to her shoulder an early morning, half-awake both of us, her hair covering my face, and I breathing through it. The scent of heavenly happiness she was.

I take it your missing Sommer?