Don Quixote dreams of rainbows
We loved
each other’s company as teens
and it still
holds true
so many
years later.
There is
nothing quite like the intimate captivity
of a long
country drive
to test
relationships,
ours so
recently re-kindled.
Today the
light was enchanting.
It rained
and rained this morning,
Wet still,
and cold, at noon, heading out,
clouds haunt
the windmills,
green
bursting from paddocks.
Who are you?
conversation
exploring the contours of our mutual question.
Histories.
Motivations.
Creativity.
Families.
Light and
shade, rain and mist, dance on the hills.
Oh, the fun
we had, the shopping, lunch, the laughter.
And the
drive back, through the hills, the rain gone,
the
windfarms stand clear.
Suddenly on
the road, not road-kill, but a teddy.
Poor sodden
teddy, so pre-loved, lost and abandoned on the road.
We call him
Don Quixote, because of the windmills.
A magic
rainbow stands bright-clear in front of hills,
the gold of
friendship.
Inside and out
we are laughing, squealing with delight,
two old
ladies, like teens again.
Religion.
Your
mystical experience. And mine. They do not match.
Is this
fear? This flutter in the gut? Trepidation? Excitement?
Hope? for a
resolution in this tension.
We let it
hang. Again.
Don Quixote
is left to dry on your veranda.
We part,
planning our next reunion.
Love is here
between us, the love of friends
Forged long
ago, and yet as real today,
warm, and
fuzzy and safe.
© Tina Shettigara
3 July 2020
 |
| Don Quixote after a bath and a brush |
 |
| Wind turbines in fog |
No comments:
Post a Comment