Sharing stories

In that golden hour just before sunset some of my greatest adventures have taken place when I least expected them. 

I love to walk among the trees, but on that one day I swear I heard them whispering, sharing stories of days like this from the past; root to root, leaf to leaf, the rustling of words communicated without lips to form them, surrounded me. I strained to understand, but was distracted by someone walking towards me.

Out of the sunset, a silhouette that looked vaguely familiar approached. He wore a hat. Not a baseball cap. Nor a cowboy hat, but some kind of man's hat pulled down over tousled curls that escaped here and there. It was a chilly afternoon and he had on a dark green sweater that matched his eyes, the sleeves pushed up to reveal strong forearms whose tiny hairs glistened in the sunlight.

To say I was drawn to him would be an understatement. I could no more have walked away than water could flow uphill. Nature has her own rules and we were destined to meet. 

Finding myself standing right before him, I didn't know what to say. I whispered his name.

"Yeah." His reply was simple, direct and also very quiet.

There is no protocol for miracles. Eventually he reached out a hand and I took it, wrapping my fingers around his and we began walking. There, with fingers intertwined, my most treasured dream began to unfold.

The squirrels chattered, the birds chirped, the trees continued their whispering and we spoke to each other, saying everything and nothing. The words were not important. It was the sound of his voice that drew me closer, the soft accent, the sweet honesty, the total lack of artifice. When I looked at him our eyes crinkled with joy and our smiles lit the way for our hearts to follow.

It was only a moment in time, defined by nothing more than his mere presence, but that was more than I had ever dared to dream would really happen. 

Finally finding ourselves by the old stone wall where the wild roses grow, we sat down. I could feel the heat of his body sitting next to mine. I could hear the soft rhythmic breaths between the words we no longer spoke. His fingers unwound from mine and then he was gone!

And this story ends.