a started garden

what’s love?
well I knew these two once.
quick to laugh at the world.
young and wise, and they knew it too.

she offered him some coffee.
she liked the way he spoke.
she made him all walnuts in carrot cake,
all caramel in cookie dough.
and he liked the way she listened.

they stopped getting coffee.
the rush no longer cost anything.
you see, they chose to leave out the dice and fold the board.
they both agreed, The Game would be left out in the cold.

and he loved the way she wrote.
for it was a raw slice of sweet potato,
fresh and undebatable.
he made her all smiles with no words,
all movement with no warning.

yea I knew these two.
they took love and taught it how to dance.
made me believe that I, too, had a chance.
and their tango! well, as they say, it takes two.
but I swear, when I watched, I only saw one.

but, being young I guess, meant a flurry of new thoughts and feelings.
she would tell him that her future-glances could not find him.
they took a deep breath.
he admitted that he hadn’t the gift of foresight either.
this only made it better.
being blind on the same page, they finger painted a clever question mark on tomorrow.

this philosophy led them to new heights.
to mountains with lakes of ice, and views so tangible they almost thought they could see tomorrow.
but it was just the curve of the earth they shared.
walks by the driftwood, a lighthouse in sight.
boat rides with sisters for blueberry nights.

they peeled and chopped and saturday shopped
and set to a simmer. he liked to season, she liked without.
somehow it all tasted wonderful anyway.
yes, they fed many faces.
for after all, a community grows with its garden.
and she loved the way his touch
would creep up like a shiver, but made her warm up.
she made him all whistles like a teakettle,
all wishes like a lamp.

and they loved the other side of doors,
the sides you put keys into.
it’s where their famous walks took them.
past the trees they knew they’d climb.
they made bold plans to see the largest ones in the world.
to visit a desert and still find moisture.

a farm too. they would learn the old ways,
what the harvest meant. and how our heart is a root system.
how to live in harmony and interdependence. this they believed in.

but this love was undiluted. this was a concentrated love,
full of pulp, unshaken. It was much in a short time. and as I said, they were young.
and one day she made herself a compass.
the needle, she said, pointed to her source of happiness.
the needle pointed to her.

he could not understand this.
for her compass was true but incomplete.
so one night he stole by her bedside, and lifted it from its box.
he added another needle. then another. and another.
so many needles that her compass resembled a web by the end of it.
one needle now pointed to him. another pointed to her sister. another to her father and mother. one to his mother and several to her friends.
he reminded her of what she already knew.
that she would not be very happy without these people, if she only had herself in this world.

they took themselves a deep breath.
“but to be with you, I must be free,” said she.
he told her his embraces were never intended to be handcuffs.
but she was afraid. She did not want to lose herself in a man.
he told her she was free, free to be alone or with anyone she chose.
“but whomever you love, do not fear what you feel,” said he.

he knew this was wisdom they shared, but everyone must be faced with their own truth sometimes.
still, she was a runner, and she was going to run. so he filled up her bottle and saw her off.
but every lake is a loop, and as she ran further she ran closer.
he traced question marks in the sand as he waited.

they had a garden to grow and spring was approaching.
they worked hard.
she struggled to feel like an individual while part of a pair.
he struggled to be understanding.
they took many deep breaths.

he loved the way she smiled.
she loved the music they shared.
i loved them both for their fearlessness.

spring came.
she rounded the lake.
they ran the next lap together.
and soon he was gone, to tell the world stories about fire.
she lived her life much as it had been without him.

they met up again at the end of spring.
her compass in hand, their eyes told tales of change.
there were pictures to share and experiences to describe.
but details, all details in their minds. changes only in the foliage, our hearts are root systems.
i don’t know much more than that.
i’ve done some traveling myself and haven’t been in touch.
i know if I visit, they’ll be sure to grind up some local, organic goodness.
and as for their love?
well, this is no happily-ever-after story,
for stories never end.

i expect they still deal with the fear of attachment.
they may have even split over commitment issues.
but I reckon those two are knee deep in weeds,
with blackened fingernails and sore calves,
but smiles all the way.

they’re something special, giving each other what they need.
they are what the world needs.
and that’s love.