From Wednesday with Love, September 11, 2013 ~ My Lady Faire

My friend, Culann the Lecher, read my Tuesday Teaser yesterday, So Be It...,  and said anyone can write a fantasy.  In fact, let me quote him, "You conjured good words and images. However I'm an exception to what was evoked. This is NOT to say it was bad, it's not, just that I sit outside the range of those words. It's easy to conjure sensual images that evoke fantasy partners. For me it's something a tad different. Not to conjure images of a Nymph and sigh, rather to look at the dowdy middle age person and see the Nymph shining through. That each flaw of the skin is a mark of uniqueness to be noted and appreciated. That your "Dream Girl" can have grey hair and still be your Dream. Want to take up that challenge in 200 words?   

My friend is probably right.  It is easier to write about a fantasy, a "Dream Girl", as he put it. How is it to write about weathered love that has been shared for decades, though all the perils, pains and pitfalls life dishes up?  I responded quite confidently that I could do that, too, and so confident was I that I could, I told him to select the photo.  He did:  the beautiful photograph below.  Meet my friend, Culann and his wife, the lovely Lady Faire fresh from their living history group a month and a half ago.  You be the judge: How did I do?  Appropriately, I selected the music from 

"Somewhere in Time" by Maksim 

as a backdrop for these lovers.  I give you this short, 200 word piece, dedicated to my friend and his wife My Lady Faire....

My Lady Faire

He leaned back, closed his weary eyes and loosened his belt, relaxed.  The framed photo, newly her favorite, rested against her heart.   She slept, spent.  He inhaled her familiar ‘sweet strawberry’ essence with the shared rhythm of their breathing.  It was a lifetime and yet only moments…

The same errant curl, now with a little less spring, a little less luster and grey with time, fell to her forehead tickling her brow as it always has.  He reached to tuck the insistent ringlet from her face when their weathered hands touched, in the same well-loved spot.

I didn’t mean to wake you, he whispered into the air surrounding her.

You didn’t, she cooed, that ever damned curl did, love.  If you hadn’t such an affinity for my curls, I would have cut them decades ago.

I will never forget the first time I saw those wild auburn curls. I remember thinking your hair sparkled in the moonlight and danced for play with the sun.  But for that, would you change anything?

She turned to him, held his twisted, polished hand to her heart and sighed.

Don’t you know yet, darling? Though time has ravaged our bodies, my heart sees only lovers.

"Come back to me," she whispered into the wind.....