In cold of night near to autumn’s last, she sat on patio beside fire of piped gas and not of wood. Still, it was nice to be near to the warmth, near to its light and the close of him beside.
In fine stemmed glass that flared above, she stirred her drink with black, thin straw watching contents as they swirled, coalesced from settle and separation, one in body once more.
In the cold, black, and nakedness of the nearly winter world around, the spirit brought her back, restored a brighter and better from almost magic potion effect—her spirit changed to its as she drank and savored slow.
Within it—whether spirit, mind, or truth—she saw and felt again the way of autumn’s height—evanescence of pleasure fill before after-fall into depression.
In glass, height’s color shone—bright chartreuse of yellow and green bold in a vibrance and beauty.
And in the drink, she felt fall’s feel—the crisp and the cool, fresh and clean, and warmth of an after-linger sensed most strong in depths of heart and soul.
That was why she drank, only realizing then—in contemplation on the chartreuse stirred. She drank for the warmth of spirit, that touch most strong at depths of heart and soul; desire for autumn’s height again, for the sights and senses and all that lived in the glory and awe of boldness and wonder-passions.
Her body panged for it again—all the ways that it had lived—for the boldness and force, full-strength of spirit, in oneness’ submission to the power and awe lived and known and forever true in chartreuse cover and spell-cast wonder in ethereal of evening shade.
She ached, wanting: all the wonders, all the ways.
She took a fuller drink from glass. Spirit’s heat enflamed, in stronger speak and rise.
Mood and spirit changed.
Drink was not enough.
She needed more, stronger spirit, to be alone and away from others—only way that stronger showed.
She reached for him in chair beside; hand over shoulder in turn of his head and, with look, spoke his face to hers.
She kissed him slow and with a depth that drew voiced sound without his meaning, her taste of spirit on his lips, stirred warmth in heart and soul. Her color of eyes astir—chartreuse coalesce in low of the night and firelight beside, heart fluttered in pang of sudden and strong.
She finished drink, one last long draw, then took his hand in stand, making fast for home: to be alone, to kindled fire and open floor, both’s need for the power and awe—oneness in the Wonder.