There is a strangeness that lives in spirit-communion. Even more than bodies paired in love’s meet; spirits shape and attune in becoming, one like other, into fit and meld of unity-one.
Spirit does not wonder if they are on the other’s mind. Spirit knows, for the other is on theirs too; and Universe communes in signs—through distances of time and space—affirmations of this truth.
And so it was in morning’s begin as she read in gaze the words on wall: a written love-note, waiting there, affirming every day.
In dawn of autumn’s arrived cold, touched by words and sun through windows, glowed, surrounding home’s front door—as frost ended season of verdure—there retained a life of heat and spirit-growth expanding in her within.
She dressed in black over fine, fair skin that like silver maple of the lawn faired ever more in the lessening of light and days.
She thought in a romance, hoped for a sign, and one was there: means and way of spirit’s speak communed in Universe-tell.
In silver frost of morning world, heart within enflamed—enkindled by the sign.
She dreamt the romance further, sharing spirit with the sun in hope that it might carry and shine for him in sign. Low and receiving, wake of heat, she felt him as he did.
She opened to the sign, receiving—skin tingled and alive; sensing, taking—heat-pulses of the sun strengthening in rise.