They awoke.
She was almost child-like in appearance, no make up, hair askew...her eyes were wide and her laugh was amazingly familiar....he heard it fade as she went into the bathroom to catch herself in the mirror...he heard her make some noise about her hair and fussing a little...he looked in and she was sweeping it up over her head and cascading it into a high ponytail.
Landscapes look different in seasons...a farmer's furrowed field, dark and rich in spring is clearly exceedingly different under the weight of a snowstorm.
In the evening a moon in summer cuts through the dark and finds shadows...where a moon over snow creates a white-out effect.
A child's chalk colored sidewalk reverts to plain limestone when scrubbed free from a storm.
Graffiti artists take their art and imprint the infrastructure...decorating overpasses and subway trains...
Thunder clouds gray out the blues of the horizon, sheets of rain dull and blur the colors, the shapes beneath...
A sunset is usually the very last amazing kaleidoscope of colors before blackness smears everything away.
Certain things are beautiful adorned...rarer are the things that are beautiful unadorned.
She fell into both categories.
A naturalness that came easy...a landscape worth mapping...a new continent worth the dangers of exploring....setting out to sea in a general direction, unknowing the tides but staying fixed on one star.
A sun.
Worth waking to.
Worth waking with.
Blinding, incandescent. Burning warm and bright.
And then descending...
worth drifting with...worth drifting off with...on a vast unknown sea, unadorned by stars...
Just to rise and begin again.
Once again.
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