*************************************************************

Moonlight

He awoke in the deepest depths of the night. The exact time was unimportant. A brief break in the tapestry of his dreams had opened his eyes and he stared up at the ceiling without really seeing it at first. Soon, the dancing river of cold moonlight and reflected rain began to make a chaotic half sense to his blurred vision and he realised that he was conscious. The only movement that broke the serenity of the sanctuary that was their bedroom was the ageless waltz of light across the plastered sky above the bed. The rain outside was cold, elemental and savage, a harsh counterpoint to the security within.

He raised himself upon one elbow to gaze down at his companion, still cradled in white linen and eiderdown. All of her customary poise and glacial composure were abandoned; in slumber she was as wanton as a maenad. He had always known that she was beautiful, but in the silver-blue light that haunts the night her beauty was as unearthly and delicate as cold marble. With one long finger he gently traced the curve of her cheek, his touch as ethereal as the moonlight that illuminated them both. Dark lashes fluttered like a nervous heartbeat and soft lips parted as the calloused pad of his finger gently caressed them; he smiled fondly as she unwittingly kissed him. Longing to be close to her, he bent down and tasted her sleeping breath, inhaling the scent of comfort and belonging that enveloped her as warmly as the eiderdown.

They never spoke of love. Not out loud. Not with words. Yet there is more to language than mere words; he knew that and so did she. Instead they spoke in gestures, in movements and thoughts.

Now though, something compelled him to shatter this heavenly tranquillity with spoken words. Some deep yearning of his soul needed to tell her the truth, because the truth stands outside of time, and it mattered not that she wouldn’t hear him because she already knew. So, for once, he spoke with his voice, which was as low and soft as the gentle rain upon the window and flowed with the same ageless cadence.

“Every good thing in my life belongs to you: home, children, happiness, freedom, sanity. You are everything I need and I want nothing more. When we were young I was too full of foolish ambition to recognise this fact. I am older now, and perhaps I am even wiser. But this I do know; you are my world and my strength, and for this I thank you.”

He kissed her again, a soft kiss, not bestowed in passion; for this was not the time for passion. This was a kiss of reverence and respect, gratitude and even worship. She smiled in her sleep, expressing the same enigmatic grace that has always attracted him. He lay back down beside his beloved and gathered her to him, nestling his head into her wild hair. He slept, knowing that his greatest treasure was contained within the circle of his arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Morning Sunshine

She awoke in the light of golden morning and stretched as luxuriantly as a pampered cat. The rain that had sung her a bedtime lullaby of patter-pit-patter to make her glad of the security of hearth and home had ended now. In its place came the radiance of the breaking day with its delicate crescendo of birdsong, sounding like the essence joy as it drifted through the window; sonorous bliss borne on the scent of lavender and bergamot and home and happy and here.

She slithered out of the warm arms that surrounded her and looked down at her man, puzzled because he still slept while she was wakeful. Normally she was the lazy one who slept too long; he was always up first and roused her. Watching him slumber on, she smiled and brushed the hair tenderly away from his face. He looked younger in the golden morning, the lines of many years that troubled his waking face had relaxed, his lip had curled into an almost-smile.

She was the one who always smiled – he was the one who always frowned – now she laughed in silent mirth and love.

The woman placed her hand upon the bare chest of the man that she loved, so that she could feel the beating heart beneath his flesh. His heart was precious to her, and she cherished the steady beat beneath her palm; its rhythm was her only meditation and now it overwhelmed her until it almost caused her pain.

She spoke softly, letting him sleep on; she had no wish to disturb him, but if she did not express the power that his beating heart had over hers, then her own may well have burst. Her voice was honey, she spoke in sunshine. “Thank you.” She told him. “Thank you for understanding. Thank you for always being here. Thank you for being you and still allowing me to be myself.”

She kissed him, a gentle token of uncomplicated adoration. Then she lay back down by his side, knowing that all the world that mattered to her was enclosed within the strong circle of his arms.