By Gala
Date: 10 November 2000
Winter Ridge
I open the door quietly---
and the only sound is your deep breath
wrapped in sleep like a blanket,
and the soft tick of the clock.
I did not think I would make it---
life intruded on every front,
traffic
work
and everyone wanting a piece of me
five minutes before I left.
But I fought my way here,
half afraid you would leave in disgust
or anger
or just sadness at being left to wait again.
But you were parked,
and I nearly ran up the stairs
heart turning cartwheels
and leave the world behind with my boots
as I step on the oak floor.
Good smells---woodfire,
the russian tea you brew for me,
lemon oil
and oh yes, cedar.
I put down my bags, drop my coat
and hasten up to the loft
quiet and nearly trembling
wanting to look at you
and fill my eyes and heart.
It's cold---
but when I touch you
I feel that lovely lazy warmth
through the down comforter,
notice that you have left my pillows
just as I like them---
save the one you are holding close.
Gently I pull and tug
until it is free from your arms---
because my darling man,
you don't need it anymore.
The one you came to hold
drove half through the night
and now can only think
of spooning against you
and falling asleep
with your arms firm around my waist.
I leave jeans, sweater---the rest in a heap,
and slide in beside you
not wanting to make you wake---
but sighing deeply
when those hands reach out
and haul me close,
and those arms wrap around me
as soft as ermine
and all at once I'm not cold in the least.
I lay there, feel your lips touch my shoulder,
and look out over the valley
where the moon is dancing with the stars,
lazy like.
And I sigh as sleep claims me
knowing I've come home
to the Ridge
to my life
to you...and this time, I'll stay.
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