10 Minutes/Entry 14
Date: May 21st, 2008 5:24:05 am - Subscribe
Mood: thrilled
Singing in the night with lights. Fireflies call to their beloveds. Or is that Ms. Right Now? The bulls snort and shuffle in the twilight. Their impatient stampings and swish of tails tinge the barn a shade of impatient. The peeper frogs call from the creek, with a occasional baritone from the old bullfrog that lives under the bridge. He's like a troll, demanding payment from gruff goats.
The dance that we do when confronted with the longing for sex can kill us. It can cure us. It is the most frightening and the most living thing that we can do. We dance. We preen. We sidle into each others' lives. Sometimes we stumble in, and it's a surprise all around. Sometimes we know, and it's a matter of patience waiting for the other. If we care, we wait, cultivating a non-smothering patience. For love cannot be forced. It moves more powerfully than mountains, and more gently than a kitten's softest kiss.
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