Finding myself walking alongside the river at the tail end of that winter of discontent, as I find myself taking that path beside it, as I follow each serpentine curve and going to where it leads, and not minding the fine mist from those heavy gun metal grey skies overhead. And still being able to still feel a touch of the winter and it’s chill that’s still in the air, and having the feeling of being watched, and observed from nearby.

As I look to my left and see that dark water nearby making it’s way to the sea, and then turning and looking to the right and seeing her for the first time standing in a Victorian bay window. Seeing her eyes of blue that have me think of heat and blue skies and where warm winds blow, where I was once taken by the hand and lead out to Touch the Earth where bluebonnets grow wild. Her eyes looking like the sea as they ripple and wave in those warm winds blowing there in the hill country.

Seeing her standing there with her long dark flowing hair behind the heavy glass, standing there in black shirt and jeans and wondering why she was watching or what she sees in me? Looking at her, as she looks at me and these green eyes of mine lock on those blue eyes of hers, and forgetting that I’m standing here in this steady falling mist as we both try to take the measure that’s there, and feeling as though I can stand and stare for a thousand years as I wonder if she knows my name?

Most times those who feel me draw near change their minds and draw the blinds. But not her as I stand here and feel those silver sparks igniting that flame I happen to call a heartbeat, and beginning to feel time beginning to slow to a crawl and move incredibly slow as our gazes continue to lock. And feeling that flame beginning to make it’s way through that ageless heart I have as it begins to beat, and has me wondering if she realizes that we both seem to be floating in space?

But then again it’s just an illusion and life travels by so fast, and it’s hard to make some moments like these and good times last as I hear that false clock ticking, trying to make me think it’s ticking out my time as I continue to stand here in that fine mist not moving. And maybe it’s best that I continue on my way as those skies begin to start getting darker and leave all alone, as I see those lights come up behind her and her now a silhouette on the glass as she stands there still.

One day I will reach up and touch the sky and try and shoot the moon once again. But this isn’t the time or the place as I feel those chill winds come up again and directing me on my way, and turning my collar to the cold and damp as I close these tired eyes knowing I need to turn and walk away. And knowing that this is just another long night and just follow the path I was following before this interlude, and follow that ageless heart I carry that has never truly mended to where I should be.

Making my way as I follow that river once again heading back to where I need to be and that’s with you, and having no regrets that I didn’t make my way over and meet her and see all that was possibly read by eye. Though I might be feeling funny as I can see you standing there instead I know that my heart is right, so I will make my way back to you knowing that life is stranger than fiction and need to follow my belief, t hat I have always had in you though at times I seem to doubt myself and wonder if you’ve had regrets.

As I sketch a salute to her, as she stands here as a silhouette behind glass, and heading out again as though I am once again answering the call to that old friend Highway 61. And knowing that this time in the turning of twilight under these darkening skies turning from grey to black. I will finally be making my way home to you the one I need to get back to and be with, and with hands in pockets as I mark off time with each step towards you I silently pledge to make a stand.

* Reprise: Return to the first theme (Webster’s Universal Dictionary)

Copyright February 2007: Timberwolf International LTD.