She loves the afterglow….that lull, when two bodies cease the great struggle towards the “Little Death”, when the pulse quietens. Loves to explore the unfamiliar territory of his face….to go beyond his eyes, touch his still wet lips with delicate fingertips…..trace the strong planes of cheek bones, the thick dark stubbled hair around his mouth and chin, finding the lovely unknown terrain, of him…..and then returning to the pull of his gaze, his strong beautiful face, and finally at rest….looking back at him, into him. Those clear blue eyes, the soul of him.
They moan and cry out, torn from their final resting place in the old burial ground, dug up from the dark earth with callous disregard for the lives they once lived, loaded onto carts by the moon’s dark, as the tired old horses hoofbeats ring out on cobbled stones…..taken from all they once knew as home…..muted by death, none can hear their troubled cries…..and way out across the waters of the Bay, the Plovers shrill pipings echo the lone piercing wails of the old woman as her grieving voice floats out across the waves. She feels the lift and shifting of the bodies deep within, hears her long dead lover, his soul self calling. “Come find me, come my love, my heart, come find my bones”
The world turns, Autumn’s leaves lie soaked and heavy on the cold ground, breaking down, going back to earth. She revels in the clean clear cold morning air, sharp, raw, invigorating. The early morning ritual of lighting the fire….raking over yesterday’s ashes to find the glow beneath, the heat to bring life to her bundle of twigs and eucalyptus leaves. Smoke drifts, filling the cold rooms with the scent of forests, and within moments her thoughts float above the smoke, remembering…..remembering him.
