Day 193

when I remember our third day,

my mind wanders to an open meadow

embroidered with patches of purple and white –

a bed of wildflowers to cushion delicate beginnings –

whispered secrets and brushed fingertips.

and as minutes eased into hours,

the world held its breath for the stillness.

even the moonlight would have been too strident

for the eyes of an infant “us,”

as we pondered the stars and wishes and thoughts of

who we were, who we are, and who we long to be.

it was this picture –

framed by a cushion of darkness

and laced with the shadows

of scrub oak and aspens

that gave life to that most fragile word

full of hesitance and hope-

a weightless sigh hovering lithely above our silhouettes,

small forms dwarfed so precariously by the grandeur of the world-

a word that rang through my head

as you swallowed me up in your possibility.

one word to catch my breath

and my imagination.

maybe.