Traveling Grace

If you were to ask me where and when love was born,
whether on a sunny afternoon under a shade tree
in the corner of a familiar room,
or under the eaves of a shelter during pouring rain,

I could not know which place to say.

Though equally the place would not have mattered
as much as the work to consumate the creation,

-how it got there-

and the time it took for every nuanced surface and texture
to be smoothed or grooved by wind and weather;
of touches and locked gazes
focused on the horizon,

a slow exhalation of breath
prepared for that exact moment.

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2 thoughts on “Traveling Grace

  1. combs2jc

    I truly enjoyed this. It reminded me of a photograph with my daughter I always keep near. A photograph of a fishing trip when she was four, on a Father’s Day I almost didn’t live to see. Thank you, I really like your writing.

    Reply

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