At evening shade, in yellow light fall-casting through the trees—that seemed to him through all their stay as dream—he felt the sadness and longing too that shown from her, dimming mirth and bright of her eyes like cloud before the sun.
It was a longing, not for more, but for that what they lived and held and shared might last—if not forever—a little longer.
Neither wished for it to end. Neither desired then to leave. They wanted place for home—for life, more than brief escapes.
Somberness fell greater as yellow of light bleakened, whether in truth or only to mind and seeing eyes.
“Are we too old to start again?” he asked.
Thirty-eight and forty, it sounded older than it felt. He had no idea how to make a living though he know well to make the life.
“I’d hate to think we’re ever too old to give up on seeking after something we desire, especially when it’s a life and one we know can be because we are living in it now.”
To know he read her spirit, attuned, asked, and wanted too—it made her sadness less.
“How would we make a life?” he asked.
“Like this,” she smiled, waving hand with affection and endearment, gaze tender in its sight, as she signed in show to all that surrounded: light and the trees, home and open door behind—stone hearth, space of room, second stove beside, coarse hewn beams and wooden ceiling’s match in cut to oak-natural grain; open door of the bedroom, mattress’ sheets and throw in crumple still of love in the night and again in day in fall of light through window’s remain in open, room’s become as world outside, filled with the spirit, scents, and living songs of Creation-force as she filled and spirit-cried in same in make and take upon and beneath him in open’s passion.
She combed loose hairs away from face that caught in the evening wind. She saw and felt it all again, and desired to remain.
“Making the life is easy,” she spoke. “We live it every moment we are here. It’s the living that’d be hard…”
“And how would we do that?” he asked.
She shrugged. She didn’t have an answer, not yet, but does need one to begin? Mustn’t one first begin if answer is ever to be discovered?
“Don’t overthink it,” she spoke aloud—to him and to herself—not allowing fear or doubt to hide or deny her willing and admitting of a desired life. “An answer will come—if we keep open to it…show Universe and God we mean what we say…”
To speak, admit, made spirit better. Morose and sadness lessened as glory breathed again in wave of light, brilliance-brightened, through place of evening shade. It was a temporary ending to one that needn’t be.
An answer would come. A path would show—if they lived open and honest in their hearts.
He kissed her gentle, raised her from rest, and led her once again to mattress’ strewn, and nakedness before open window; honest and open in heart and soul desires.