This is a short piece I wrote about four years ago. I was going through old files on my computer and I thought I would share this one…
Equator of Love
As softly as a feather skims the window of an old seaside cottage, they fell in love. People say it was destined from the moment she touched the orange earth. Others believe they would have found one another sooner or later, whether down some broken path or in some moonlit estuary. It is thus strange that, that is precisely where the first meeting began.
An escapade into the jazzier side of life, filled with rainbow flags and parading eccentricities, that is where it started. A hint of flirtation, followed by an unanswered intention, but then the adventure unveiled itself. It happened so naturally, almost as though they were both eagerly expecting it. Intimate moments happened earlier than could have been anticipated. Blue tights and musical sing-songs. Their afternoons were filled with the soft beats of a drum and a bass, and frequented trips to a lazy mountainside passed the time, hydrated with calm. It was a gentle, yet desperately sensual journey that was only just beginning.
The girl from the northern, icy-cold, but green pastures never knew such peace. She embarked on a homecoming and yet the feeling of home seemed to live further south, where the boy had always lived. The boy from the south continued with his daily tasks, and yet there was a lighter step that carried him to and fro. It appeared that the entwining of these two had immersed within them.
The first moment they shared such intimate words was soon. After a frantic landing on a grassy mosaic, fuelled by sweet juices, they chased each other back to his residence and it happened. He said it first. She had been wanting to say it from the moment she landed south and became bombarded by his world. The right moment never came…until that winter evening. He said it first. She hid her face in his shoulder and her heart became light. The lightness continued to spread through her and the next day she radiated.
It was happening and no one could stop it or step in their way. Their intimacies filled rooms with passion and a fire that could not be put out, no matter how much water entered. It seemed that nothing could prevent their happiness, even cut lips from broken flowerpots. She wore blue tights again. She lit up the room like a lightning bolt, and he dazzled the spectators with his gold. A sun and a moon, a girl from the north and a boy from the south, fire and water, silver and gold, sugar and salt. Literally separated by an equator, but never far from each other.
As with life, following paths can lead to unusual circumstances; circumstances that can ruin and destroy, or simultaneously create an ever tightening bond. They experienced both at exactly the same time. A series of passionately induced outbursts, followed by the storm, and then the calm, and then once again a storm of never-ending poverty. They were lucky to have each other. They both knew it, and the storm is a cherished, yet ever so slightly angered memoir. He said it, and she will say it again- If we didn’t have the storm moments, we wouldn’t have the calm moments. He is right. She knows that he is right.