Can we watch old movies during long rainstorms?
Can the smell of popcorn float down hallways and into our noses,
sticking out as we hid in blankets?
Can we have slow conversations in hot showers, leaned against tile, separated only by steam?
I am in love with simplicity, the easy passing of hours with you;
we never needed extravagance anyway.
It’s getting to that time of the year when things start to fold in on themselves.
The mornings have a trace of crispness to them and the light is brittle bright.
I’m tired but satisfied by a year that hasn’t ended yet – a wedding season that still has yet to fully play out. And my feet are cold on the uncarpeted floor of my office. No windows – not distractions – but a computer that affords a peephole into everywhere I’ve been. The warm sands and wetly soft snows. The miles walked and flown, the wines drunk and food lingered over. Hot winds and cold ones, too. Sunsets and storms and late nights dancing in the rain.
And words. They’re oh-so disobedient. Bubbling and fermenting and spilling in the wrong directions like agitated beer.
Texture. Colour. Light – oh, yes. Always the light.
Katie. Martin. Finn. An perfectly imperfect wedding (so much rain!). A perfectly human wedding. A Christmas bauble of love to hang on the tree of life to sparkle away quietly against the dark.
