Of Spring

Thank you, Elle
:: With Gratitude ::

There is a warmth to a day like today, early in spring when each note of the birds song endures, stretched out as if time itself is slowed and her song reaches out to fill the space between, it’s not the same warmth that caresses your skin, arousing the senses, no it’s more immersed, and facile; it’s infinite, one moment everlasting, until the air tempers and the sun drifts, and one everlasting moment is simply gone, and a new day takes its place.

I’m mourning, and celebrating simultaneously. Mourning for something that I lost: a look, an expression of love, and admiration, and respect not something in the eyes but behind the eyes, the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen expressed on the face of the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen.

My respect, admiration, and adoration for her is unparalleled and it’s nothing that I could even attempt to describe, I’ve tried. I didn’t know that I could respect, admire, and love her more than I did, I didn’t know it was possible. There is no one, anywhere that could compare to this woman, she is someone that shatters all notions defining or outlining the character of a wo(man). I cannot even begin to explain how the decisions she’s made over the past week stun and amaze me; what she is willing to do and to forgive for no reason, none except that she is capable and that she is willing is astounding.

She is a living angel, and she has compassion and understanding and faith like nothing I’ve seen, witnessed, or imagined in the quality of a person. She is the Spring; the summer, autumn, and winter she is the feeling inside of you that you cannot explain, new but familiar with every season: the birdsong that reaches out to fill the space between, the passion simmering in the summer heat, the tranquility descending with the autumn leaves, and the fated passing in a winters’ breath.

My gratitude for her is unbound, every day.

In my plight I allowed expectation to obscure my unconditional awe, in my loneliness I allowed my desire to overwhelm my thanksgiving, and in my exhaustion I allowed discourse to illuminate my failing. I am so sorry.

So, I mourn for something that I lost.

And, yet there is a warmth to a day like today, early in spring when each note of the birds song endures, stretched out as if time itself is slowed and her song reaches out to fill the space between, it’s not the same warmth that caresses your skin, arousing the senses, no it’s more immersed, and facile; it’s resurrection, an opportunity to fall in love; again. ​It's rebirth. It's a gift. And, I accept it with complete recognition of it's requisite. Thank you, love; Thank you.

This isn't what I intended to write today. I started writing wanting to write poetic prose about the season, and how much I'm enjoying the day but I kept getting stuck, and when actually let myself write this is what came out. 

And, about the song... I just had to do it ;) Watch it!