I am going to be really sad when my little tin can is empty and there are no more “seeds”. It has been fun to pull out a tiny slip of paper and unfold it to find out what the writing prompt will be. I guess it’s a writer’s Christmas sort of thing! Hope you enjoy this little seed…
There he is. He sits on the steps of the front porch. He is waiting for me in the night under the beams of the moon. Not quite a full moon but bright enough to see him as I pause for a moment behind the old oak tree. I do that often. Hide behind the tree and watch. Watch him as he follows the night shadows as they dance around the front yard and into the surrounding woods.
I slip off my damp sneakers and my toes connect with the dewing grass. Shocking me to my senses as the earth escorts me over to my lover. He holds out his hand from the third step and guides me up to him. I sit between his legs just on the rung below him and we bathe in the rays of the evening moon.
Perhaps other lovers can meet under the sun. We meet in the light of darkness. Our only witnesses are the ancient oaks and glowing eyes of the woodland creatures who, like us, can only safely come out at night to play.
We sit there in the grey, blue and silver night. Red roses in the garden are now a deep purple. The old white cabin is a labyrinth of shadows with every window and doorway morphed to look as if it has been mirrored in a fun house exhibit. The mailbox that stands at the dusty worn road looks like a crooked old stranger watching us and perhaps even passing some judgment.
It is exciting to be in a part of the world that is forbidden. A secret pass to an event very few venture to witness. Haven’t we been told all our lives to come in from the dark that which is prohibited and scary? I think it is daring.
We sit there, my lover and I, and rebelliously soak those beams up before we grasp hands and climb the rest of the stairs into the dark cabin to do only what lovers do….
Chris Writes 