Walking home in a gentle rain under the oak trees draped in Spanish moss, all my thoughts turn to you, my sweet love.
Where are you this moment? Does the sun shine warm upon your shoulders while a gentle breeze softly caresses your skin the way I wish I could?
Or does the winter chill set you to shivering the way I imagine you might if I trailed my fingers like gossamer down your spine?
Do you turn your face up to the falling snow and smile when you think of my lips kissing yours the way the delicate snowflakes do?
As the rain falls to the pavement to pool in circles of crystal at my feet and glitters like thousands of tiny diamonds on the leaves in the last hour of the day’s light, I yearn for you.
It’s so easy to get lost, though I know this path so well.
I’m not all here, love.
Part of me is with you.
Is it twilight where you are, day nearly done as you stand gazing to the west? Does your soul feel the magic of that mystical hour as the moon begins to glow?
Does the night’s velvet dark enfold you the way I burn to? Do the voices of the night creatures murmur to you the way I would if you rested in my arms, your head pillowed on my breast as you drift off to sleep to the rhythm of my heartbeat?
Walking home in a gentle rain, I feel that peaceful sense of serenity that you and I would find together if only you were here.
I look up as the rain stops falling, the clouds running away. The last rays of the sun paint the sky in shades of fire. Blood orange, fiery pink, tempered by shades of soothing lavender.
I wish you could see it. I wish I was walking home to you, to be met by the circle of your arms as I step in the door. Your beloved hands would smooth my windswept hair as your fingertips dab away the raindrops that cling to my brows and eyelashes.
You would smile and laugh at your little dryad of the wood, calling me a romantic for loving Nature in all of her moods. Hopeless romantic, you would sigh, your eyes tender as the wind through the oak trees with their Spanish moss.
Hopeless romantic?
Yes, I am that. Hence this fantasy.
Where are you this moment? I cannot say, for I haven’t met you yet.
Walking home in a gentle rain, my heart is looking for yours.
Find me. Hear my voice calling out to you on the wind. Feel my touch in the sunlight on your face. Taste my kiss in the storm. Smell my perfume in the rain-damp earth.
Find me, my love.
Walking home in a gentle rain, I’m waiting for you.
Come and walk with me under the oak trees draped in Spanish moss……..
