Pictures in the Smoke

Oh, gallant was the first love, and glittering and fine;

The second love was water, in a clear white cup;

The third love was his, and the fourth was mine;

And after that, I always get them all mixed up.

~ Dorothy Parker

I Just Couldn't Deal With Winter

The shadows are shorter now, and the new growth is sprouting on my ivy. Funny how plants know, even before the days are cooler, that fall is coming. I welcome this season change; glory in it. Before I can tire of it, winter will be here.

Autumn is coming on, mellow, and smooth. It is my second season knowing him. How I enjoy the rounding out of the season, and the rounding out of my emotions— and the penetrating diffusion that follows the last blasts of summer heat.

That summer heat was so intense, so draining. Just like my feelings for him then. Feelings so strong they stabbed and fought for release, at times welling up in me and coming out as tears or an involuntary scream. Summer has its value, but it can’t last.

I am reminded by the changing seasons that love must change to grow into something deep and lasting. It must suffer the insults of daily life, the excesses of the seasons, and the less pompous attributes of the human condition. If it makes it through all this, then there is an acceptance of the cycle of love and a welcoming of each successive season.

© Aiyana ~ 1974