This is a painting by Jean Baptiste Huet, entitled Lovers in a Landscape. I love how happy and healthy they look. Their cheeks are rosy and they seem happy in their idyllic setting. I think most of us envision ourselves like this; which is why I prefer the images in my mind and have never photographed myself in the passion of lovemaking. The image I have in my head is so much more beautiful.

old man

There are many people in the room, talking, laughing, walking about, sitting together, the usual meeting of people that attend events like weddings, graduations, all other manor of human gatherings. I am just an old man sitting on a chair watching the crowd mingle. I used to be that crowd. I was the one with the funny jokes. That was me asking all the pretty girls to dance. The drinks and food were offered by me. Now, I am content to sit and watch. Let them have their fun.

Fun is different for me now, I enjoy life from an alternative perspective. I am not waiting for death I am simply slowing down and enjoying the show that was my life and the new ones evolving around me. There is that 3 year old boy giving his mother trouble. Oh, she is so mad but I am laughing inside because I know that it will be temporary, soon she will be tucking him into bed, kissing him on his tiny, soft cheek and thinking he is the most wonderful child that has ever lived and isn't she a lucky woman.

Also, I have been looking at that middle aged woman over there who keeps adjusting her hair, her lipstick, checking to make sure she is still the beautiful woman she used to be. Of course she is. To me, all women are beautiful. I love to look at them and talk to them. Still. Here is my nephew's girlfriend looking for a place to sit. I signal to her that a place is empty next to me. And she walks across the room to join me. So graceful, yet so timid. A small doe carefully choosing her path amongst the swilling wine glasses, children running, people mingling.

As she sits I smell her flowery scent. I feel the light wisp as she tosses her back. She smiles at me and tells me how tired her feet are. Now, if I were young I might offer to get up and get her a drink but that isn't my job anymore. It is my job to sit and listen and look. She is telling me of the fun she is having at the party, how happy she is that her boyfriend brought her to meet his family. I warn her that the family has been known to be crazy but she laughs. I wag my finger at her teasingly, saying that she has been warned. I see her lovely lips encircle her pearly teeth as she smiles at me. She asks me to tell her about my nephew, what he was like when he was a boy. I could tell her that he was a mischievous brat but I lie and tell her that he was a wonderful boy. Well, it's true. He still is a wonderful boy, all those incidents were just playful learning experiences.

The sound of her sweet voice I will roll around in my mind tonight when I fall asleep before I revisit my nightly fantasy of my wife. She has been gone for 5 years but every night I think of her just as if she were still falling asleep beside me. I even have a pillow there beside me so that I can pretend she is there. Soon I will see her again. Very soon I think. It is almost time. I am not afraid. It is the way of things.

But for now, I am enjoying this sprite of a young woman who has no idea what life has in store for her. Tonight, I enjoy the sound of a woman's voice on my ear. Breathing in her scent, gazing at her pretty face, noting that strand of hair that rebels continuously against her repeated attempts to put it back. I take her soft, delicate hand in between mine and hold it gently. Tapping it lightly, I hold it. I don't want to frighten the little doe. I do not have lecherous thoughts. I do this to stir my own memories. I hold her hand and think of another.

Once there was a young man who loved a fairy like this. To her it such a long, long time ago but to me it was just yesterday. In my mind I am twirling around the dance floor with her. That is what I have now, memories. Lots and lots of memories. No, no, don't feel sorry for me. I am not sad. I had my times and adventures. I have no regrets. This insignificant encounter with my nephew's lady is a gift to an old man. It recaptures my memories, rewinding the movie of life so that now I only have to watch the good parts.

I so enjoy being around people, especially women. It takes all the women in the world to recapture the one I will see again soon.

what you say

Words. Your words, they affect me. They roll around in my head for days, and months. Each time I bring them forward in my mind and relive them. Sometimes they affect a private smile and no one knows why. I sit in a bored, crowded room with silent people as we pass time waiting for something, some appointment, some service and I smile. The mundane event is now a repeat of the place and time you first spoke your words to me.

Some words tickle me on the inside and I blush. Other words caress my inner ear. Often I feel them rolling around my belly. Sometimes they even tingle. I love what you say. I love you.

all it's ever been

No one else came before you, it has always been you. In the depths of my being I feel you. Permeating my mind, my body, you are everywhere. And have been in all ways. My life has been re-imagined and it is your face that fills my memories, your voice that resonates in my thoughts and dreams as though it has forever been thus. Time before has blended with the time that is now.

You replace all that was, the past is dimly lit with other recollections, replaced with your glowing love. I am more foolish now in this middle age, laughing at myself freely. Throwing away the ridiculous restraints of youth I can embrace everything with abandon. I embrace you with my youthful heart. I drop inhibitions like a robe around my feet and emerge in wholeness and abandon, just you and me exist, have always existed.

What I thought was love before was not, it was the apprenticeship.

paintings

I love to read love stories. I love to dream of love stories. I love to write about love. I can do all of these things myself but, I cannot draw about love. I leave that to people who are talented. A website that I enjoy is:

The collection includes so many beautiful paintings and drawings. I thought I would share it.

http://www.bonzasheila.com/welcome.html

Insomnia

Ah, she arrives, Insomnia. She is here again, knowing that I desire sleep but she has her own agenda and my yearning for the warm blanket of sleep means nothing to her. I lay in my bed, listening to the tranquil sounds of the sleeping breaths of others. The dog at my feet has her tiny little breathes, my love has his deeply satisfying, lung filling breathes. Through the slit in the window the trees are sighing their nightly rustle and in she glides. Insomnia has arrived and begins flitting around my mind. She tickles a thought here and touches a memory there. Winging here and there she taps ideas, musings, hopes, speculations, feelings, notions, and ideas. She likes the activity. She wants all of them to be awake together, running together, holding hands and skipping through my mind. She shakes her finger at Sleep, "Go away." she says.

I think that if I lay still and breathe deeply I can chase her away. I try to emulate my love's gentle breaths, in...and...out, in...and...out. Stealthily I paint a picture in my head of waves lapping a beach, of leaves rustling in their branches while I whisper to Sleep, "come back, come back". Insomnia catches me, winks at me and says, "No, I have been waiting all day to play!" Sleep slinks away. Coward.

We used to be mortal enemies. Once I cringed at her entrance, I fought her. Food, drink, TV, books, music were thrown at her. Wanting to crush her I even tried to drown her with alcohol. For such a tiny thing she was much more powerful. 2 AM came and I resented her. 4:30 AM would arrived and I wanted to smash her. Throughout the day I would resent her and vow that I would conquer her, somehow she was going to leave. I would throw her off the cliff of my mind. She is mighty. I learned to succumb. Now I humor her.

As my household drifts into the wondrous world of sleep I am left alone in the gray night, the lone wakeful one surrounded by slumber. The wind blows in my psyche and she arrives bringing her whirlwind. Thoughts are tossed about like a child going through a toy box. They scramble together. A memory from fourth grade meets an idea from yesterday. Remembrances of a long ago past dance with visions of today. Insomnia skips in and out, joining one with another. I store these joinings. There is now a notebook in my head and then after I finally sleep and wake again another day I take them and create. No longer my nemesis, she is now my muse.

two hurts

When you hurt, my heart flutters in companion with yours. The anguish you feel is in my belly too. Your agony courses through me in tandem with yours. Your tears meld with mine. With you I gasp for air trying to push this ache away. Turning my head away in disbelief, shaking. I am with you in that pit, clawing, scraping to get out of the wretchedness. We are tied, you and I, bonded from the beginning of your life. Wherever you are, my arms stretch to catch you up and pull you close, shelter you from the harm that is being thrust upon you. I am in that abyss with you where colors have faded, smells are gone, worldly noises are static and meaningless. Black and grey swirls around us in this Mordor of heartache. I know. I feel. You are not plodding on this rocky path alone.

But I want to harm them. I want to come crashing at them, growling, snarling with murderous intent. Those that dare to hurt the ones I love risk much. My nature is protection for you at my own peril. From that bear state I want to cradle you in fairy arms and lift you to my nest, sooth you before you go back to life. You will go back and you will persist. I am the cocoon from which you emerge to one day replace me for your own creation.