Windows

“Points of magical light, glimmering down on the field, illuminating the white and light-colored wildflowers.” I whispered as I gazed out the west-facing window in the living room.

“What are you muttering about?” He teased, as he walked quietly up beside me, looking over my shoulder.

“That!” I said, gesturing at the field, his gaze followed my hands, fingers wriggling in a fanciful gesture. 

“I know I’m a city boy.” Gripping my wrist gently, he kissed my fingers.

“How so?” I turned toward him, curious.

“I never knew stars could light up a field like that.” He tried taking a photo with his phone, and not satisfied with the results, he grabbed camera and tripod and wandered outdoors to satisfy his artistic muse.

Now it was his turn to mutter, something about mosquitos, f-stops and shutter speed. I chuckled, he always writes camera settings in his notebook, so he can duplicate the effect if he likes the finished product. 

“Did you capture the fireflies?” I was already planning my next children’s story based on the view out the window tonight.

Shrugging, he put his gear away. “It’s late. Let’s head to bed, and I’ll check in the morning.”

Upstairs, I looked over the field from the bathroom window, the fireflies were darting in and out of the brush at the edge of the open area. Brushing my teeth, I watched the neighbor’s orange cat pass along the periphery, stopping every so often to sniff, listen, or stalk some unsuspecting nighttime critter. He is a mighty hunter. 

One last look, and I followed Art’s example, and headed into the bedroom. When we first met, I teased him, telling him his parents were prophets, giving him the name of his profession. He told me later that is why he fell in love with me. My gentle toying with words struck his fancy. I fell in love with him because his devotion to his craft hinted at an ability to be devoted in relationship. I have not been disappointed.

People told us, in the beginning, that two artists should not try to have a relationship, but twenty years later, we still want to wake up next to each other. I guess we don’t fit into the ‘sensitive artist’ category they kept trying to stuff us into. Our theory is that our parents embraced our creativity, fostering our natural gifts rather than shaming us for focusing on ‘frivolous’ professions. Similar windows into our souls.

“Earth to Mel… Melody!” His voice snapped me out of my reverie. 

Offering a crooked smile, “Sorry, wandering down memory lane. What did I miss?”

He kissed me on the forehead, “Nothing, I could just tell you were off somewhere in the ethers. Ready for sleep?”

I turned off the light and reached for him to snuggle, it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

The same window in the early morning light showed the shadowed outline of the vultures sunning themselves, drying wings wet from dew. Those vultures only do this once or twice a year, when the weather conditions and the sunlight are perfect for their display. 

I spotted Art out on the other side of the field, lining his lens up for the perfect shot. His attention drifted to something across the street, and I padded over to the coffee pot and started prepping our morning lattes. The dogs were on the porch, sunning themselves. I opened the door as soon as their food was ready, and they assumed the appropriate positions to break their fast. 

Dogs settled, and lattes ready, I wandered outside, two steaming mugs in hand. Art was rounding the back of the house, as I took our usual spot under the locust tree. Camera gear stowed on the porch, he held out his hand for his mug, and bent over looking for a kiss. 

The vultures had arranged themselves in the trees across the field, grunting to each other occasionally, complaining about some thing or another. I chuckled as I pointed them out, taking another sip of our morning brew.

“They are hanging around longer than usual this Spring,” he pointed with his mug, as though proposing a toast to the vultures.

“Oh, Sacred Scavengers,” I chanted, “we toast your prolonged presence.”

I got the expected eye roll, and then he said: “I got a few amazing shots last night, Mel. You might want to look at them, as I noticed some unexpected things.” 

Nodding, I checked the coffee level in our mugs, and suggested a refill and a look-see at his captures.

“Oh, Art! These are magical!!” Both stars and fireflies in every shot, some looked like the stars had fallen to earth and transformed into the fireflies. In one shot, he got a raccoon moving across the back of the field. Another showed a doe and two fawn peeking out from the overgrowth at the edge of the field. 

“I think you can use these for your next story, if you want them.” He showed me a few more that were also quite lovely. “The window of opportunity for those shots was quite narrow, and I am very pleased with the results. Based on what you told me about your next children’s book, I think they will be spectacular as illustrations.”

We talked, then, about those times in our life when we responded to our intuition, and did something that perhaps we didn’t want to do, but felt compelled to do so anyway. In those moments, we sometimes felt a little foolish, but the outcome was always much more than we could ever anticipate.

The conversation continued off and on throughout the day, and we realized that those outcomes created extreme moments of gratitude. After dinner, we sat on the porch, enjoying the quieting of the evening, listening to the birds, crickets, and other night sounds. 

The pillars on the porch framed the gardens and created a lovely vista that was backdrop to our continued discussion. Herbs and flowers glowed in the fading evening light, the evening moisture drawing out the aroma of chamomile, lavender, sage and scented geranium.

“We have built such a beautiful life together, haven’t we?” The glass of wine in my hand was nearly empty, and I reached for the bottle to refill.

Art took my glass and added to it’s contents, and to his own. “We have, by listening to our intuition, and expressing gratitude for the outcome has opened us up to a great many things that we’d otherwise have missed.”

“I’m looking forward to our next adventure!”