I can taste your Fear

There’s something about love that moves, like a long, meandering drive in the countryside. Yesterday, I felt like a racecar driver, up and over hills, left and right around tight curves in the road. The exhilaration passed as a high, with its own peaks and valleys, as the forest blurred around me. And yet, there’s something about love that moves, like a field of golden wheat I saw blowing in a warm Prairie wind a long-ago afternoon. I was in love on that day. That love lasted years, on the strength of the wind blowing that wheat field. Rushing through it. Mercifully. Like all breezes, it subsided, in this case, when I least expected it to, when I grew accustomed to it. But the wind never fully settles, a lesson to learn. I’m taking note.

When the wind does die down, and we are left with nothing but emptiness, what then? We wait, in fear, wonder, perhaps for some, panic-stricken, for the movement in the field. What else but love?