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"The land is singing, can't you hear?" I asked.
My hand grazed up John's back from behind and rested on those wide firm shoulders. He was like a bear. I missed feeling him beneath my hands when he danced across the world. I knew he missed me very dearly. Robert loved to tease and tell me that.
We stood in the kitchen. The small window above the sink was opened and blowing in the smell of the earth. Dirt, fresh grass, the animals nearby that roamed the land. The smell of him mixed in it all. Soap and a heavy warm scent I couldn't put my fingers on, but it was him.
The petals of the yellow flowers that sat upon the windowsill shook gently in their glass vase. The sun gleamed through the vase and shot across the kitchen. It reminded me of a kaleidoscope. A circle of sunlight glimmered on the wall behind us. I was almost put in a trance.
His fingers danced over one of my hands. I felt the tingle he left on skin he no longer touched. His lips bid a hello to my fingers, then his eyes told mine good morning.
Oh, he was so handsome soon after waking. He was always handsome, but in the morning his hair hadn't yet been put into place and the smile he had was genuine. John's smile always reached his eyes but his morning smiles were my favorite. Those smiles were childlike and pure, no worries had yet set in for the day. His body was up but his mind hadn't yet caught up.
He touched my face; his dark eyes lingered. Green. Not like the jewels nor grass, but like moss and the growling leaves in the forest.
He didn't speak, not yet. Did worry surround him like a fog? Did he wonder of Robert's not-so-secret calls to me while they were all away? John's drinking, Robert believed it was a problem. But he doesn't drink much, I told Robert. It ached he missed his life in the countryside so dearly he intoxicated himself.
But I wore a smile to paint over the knowledge; to keep his joy simmering within him.
"I saw you on the telly." My arms wrapped around his torso. I held him close. He was warm and full of memories. "You looked s'cute and quiet. Wendy recognized you and did her little dance."
Wendy, our Australian Shepherd, was a pile of white, orange, and black fur on the kitchen tiles.
John's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Did she? I've got more dolls."
"More?" I raised my brows. "For whom, Mr. Bonham?"
He touched my flat stomach. "Little Bonham."
"Woah," I laughed and pulled away from him, "no, no, no. Not yet. Coffee first. We'll discuss that in... mm, five years."
The smell of coffee made me pass into a dream as I sat across from John. My body electrified by the warmth of the mug he'd gotten me from a local shop.
After coffee and a croissant we disappeared hand-in-hand to nature. It bid us out with a gentle calling of its whirling wind. No candle could ever capture the true scent of nature; neither could words. My hand didn't feel like my own as it melted in John's hand. It felt a part of him that was attached to me. To be him, if only for the moment.
When I threw my head back the wind played in my hair and made it dance like a curtain. Or like a playful fairy. As I turned my head to him I saw through strands of my hair. He was small when compared to the land. Simple. He was simple. "Simple," I whispered my thought aloud. He didn't want a big manor. He didn't want a ton of cars. He didn't want a woman under each arm. He wanted a countryside home. He wanted land to roam. He wanted to wake at dawn, herd animals, and farm his own plot of land.
Clouds moved by in the blue sky. I wondered what was above it all, if there truly was a space or if it all was simply a ceiling.
"Does it scare you we can never properly share our feelings?" I wondered as we sat on a blanket as yellow as the flowers in spring. "Words can only do so much."
I fingered the book I snuck in the basket with me. A book full of Julio Cortázar's short stories. I had yet to begin it and only carried it around in anticipation of the right time. John would laugh at the way I functioned; I was someone who heavily relied on moods to pick my next read. It was beautiful when the right moment hit and I found myself completely lost in another world wanting to know the end while also not wanting to leave the world. During those times John would share a small smile.
He never rushed to answer a question and allowed himself all the time necessary to gather his thoughts. When in groups, he was often spoken over or trailed back to conversations because he finally had something to add. In a world where quickness was said to thrive, he remained natural and to himself.
"Touch." He touched my knee. "Expressions." He smiled then frowned.
I could only smile at his answer. He pulled fruit, bread, cheese, and tea from the picnic basket as a murmur of the wind shook the grass. Watching him gave me a feeling. It was soft. I put a hand on his cheek and told him he was absolutely beautiful and deserved the world. He only laughed, shy, insecure, and perhaps embarrassed.
With my head in his lap, a book in a hand and raspberries in the other, I realized the moment could be a still shot or painting. Even more so one when John found an acoustic guitar in the grass.
"Jimmy must've left it." John's only explanation, though he questioned it.
"It's our own mysterious artifact." I closed my book and sat up. "Like in films and novels when someone finds something that shouldn't be there—"
"Your life is just films and books."
I nodded. "Mhm. Just films and books, I squeeze you in when I can."
I kissed him when he smiled. My heart was soft, no, my soul was soft when he smiled. John was as gentle as a lamb. He made my heart ache.
Dark hair caressed his face. He had a smile that even made the birds sing. As he strummed the guitar I wished the world could see him for who he truly was. Simple.
