As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love
AUTUMN LOVE
My Dearest Darling,
Summer fades.
A slight chill bites.
Leaves slowly shift as verdant green morphs to autumn rust.
Love rides the seasons.
It is not static, boring, predictable, inflexible.
It ebbs, floods.
Above, clouds smother Love's clear blue skies.
Nature changes Love follows its seasonal footsteps. Changing, evolving.
Perhaps the Beauty of Love is its seasons, assuming countless shapes and forms, disguing itself so that it can be uncovered,discovered. It is the thousand points of light refracting from a fine diamond's heart, casting rays of sunlight to all points of the compass, creating snowflakes mingled with spring rains, summer's heat, and turning leaves.
Love's seasons are buried in our hearts each waiting for resurrection, eager to embrace the seed of True Love.
The Spring of Love labors the Sensual Soul's newborn lamb, awed by its pristine world. Its innocence is blind to the suffering and pain Life hurls at all living, loving things. Its mettle yet untested, the Spring of Love is mesmerized to only Love's rainbows, ignoring the brewing thunderstorms. It has yet learned to armor its fragile heart against the fiercest of all seasons, the Winter of Love.
As the Summer of Love warms Newborn Love, the world sings. Orchestras comprising birds crickets, croaking frogs embellished by the flapping of butterfly wings and buzzes of squadrons of honeybees, ;punctuated by the screech of a horned owl, harmonize Nature's concert to Love's purity, to its wonderful, magic innocence of birth.
Ah, lying on the summer’s grass, your head tucked gently under my arm, we stare at the celestial sky, soaking the symphony of sounds. We kiss to the creaking of the trees as they are caressed by a slight breeze. We embrace passionately as squirrels race up and down the trunks of oaks ferreting away staples for the barren seasons to come. We are unaware there is a Winter of Love.
As Summer evaporates, the Autumn of Love consumes Love's comforting warmth. In that transition, Nature inhales as much Love as She can. She mirrors the squirrels, storing Love's Innocence cleaving Love's Acorns of Innocence to Her breast, miserly guarding its essence through Winter as She plans to release her storehouse in an exhalation when the Spring of Love is born once more. It is in this pause, this gap of seasons, that Lovers take stock of their Love. In this brace of seasons, the underbelly of Love is examined, its countless angles tested, It is our time to insure our Love's readiness, its worthiness, to withstand the coming rush of a cruel, cold winter.
We should never fear questioning the foundations of our Love, my Dearest. To turn Love upside down and gauge its worthiness and steadfastness is not an indictment of its value or quality. The greatest of all religious people study the art of apologetics, wherein they question the foundations of their faith with the ferocity of a Doubting Thomas. Their goal is to insure the unshakable nature of their Love of their Faith. It is a precarious journey, similar to walking on thin ice, for there is always the danger that under severe scrutiny, that which one believes to be True may not be. The price of finding Falseness in what one solemnly believed as Absolute Truth is often devastating.
The Autumn of Love is the time for all Lover's apologetics. We examine its trueness; we either embrace its power or recoil from it like a hot flame.
Those who “Fall out of Love” most often do so in the Autumn of Love. Under the microscope of Love’s Trueness, Falsehood festers. Broken hearts ensue. Sadness reigns. Bitterness paints the roof of the mouth. Hearts harden. Sensual Souls desiccate. Tears river into oceans. The Sensual Soul is scarred. A barren hole is stripped into is core. It will heal, cautiously.
But we who find in the Autumn of Love the Trueness of Love discover a great and priceless treasure. Our renewed Faith in Love reinforces the Foundation of Love. We are gifted the fuel of Future Love, sustainable, organic Love. Such shoring of our Love makes suffering the pain and agony of what lies ahead in the unknown paths of life bearable, adventuresome. When the Warts of Love are shed, and in their place rises the gleaming, glistening, vibrant Marrow of Love, free of any blemishes or infestations, then Love is True both to us and Nature. And this Truth, if only for its moment of existence, is invincible.
So, my Dearest One, as I examine our Love, I pare it back to the marrow. Here, in its core, is the gleaming brilliance of its Truth.
And as the Autumn of Love shifts into the Winter of Love with its icy, frozen, dark-skied days, I will have no fear or hesitation that our Love will go dormant and never awaken, or that our Sensual Souls will be irreparably wounded.
Instead, because our Love is tested, it will burn as an oak log on a blazing fire, becoming lasting embers glowing from the Hearth of Love, reminding all other Lovers that the Seasons of Love are measuring tools, reminders that test of True Love is the endurance of Time.
Forever Yours in the Autumn of Love,
Cyrano!
Anderson-McKenzie
As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love
As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love
