ed note: this chapter takes place at the cottage, late at night around a fire, everyone present save Mairi
As in all things of form and shape, there is a first and a last. Most live between the two, fearful of tasting either, content to be grey. But I tell you my dear Kyra, you are not destined for a grey life and as long as I have breath, you will not settle for a grey life, even if I have to breathe the hue of love into your very soul.
I was sitting at the kitchen table when he spoke. Grand was in bed, her days within the counting of fingers and there was Papa, making tea. But it wasn't the making of tea so much, which he did for her every day, but how. I can still see it clear, but not so much see it as to feel it. As I remember those mornings, I feel the sight as if light, his light, could penetrate my heart and soul, as if, again, he was teaching by showing, not telling. You see, he warmed the water not on the stove, but in his hands. I could see, as I did the night of the fireflies, the very heat of love. And when the tea was ready, I watched him place it on a tray and with steps not heard, carry it to her bed. She would sit up, pillow propped, and maybe it was just the imagination of a young girl, but when she took a sip, with him sitting by her side, and I don't know how to explain this, but there was a look between them, her eye to his, that I never saw outside of this daily ritual.
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I have typed this chapter as quickly as it came to mind and posted without even a spelling edit. I'll let it stand but the chapter is not so much writing as breathing, so pay no attention to the words and the machinery of language, but close your eyes and breath in the tone and texture of Papa, Grand and a young girl watching the verb of love.
That is what I did. Before coming to this page, I knew there was nothing I should add, but simply continue loving it. My goodness.
I love...
..imagining them around the fire. How they might be seated, in twos, expressions, the firelight flickering across their features
..listening to Papa. Words aside for the moment, the very timbre of his voice, the warmth in his tones whatever he is speaking to Kyra about, it is there. His eyes, his voice, these two I see and hear so clearly each time that he appears, each time that he speaks, and I must tell you once more of just how unusually marvellous your characters are, never so immediately complete, never so embedded.
..love like this, love that is so perfectly balanced, so true, knowing her, loving her, her
..love so great that there is complete conviction in the declaration and complete belief by those who hear it.
And that is just the first part of this post. The rest is held, hands held over heart each time I read, so lovely, if I do not place them there, I am not sure I read on.
Infinite.
I may need to explore the love between Zeke and Grandma Kyra. In particular the twin streams of being loved and the knowing that one is loved, of how they flow parallel, tributaries to a single destination. But it is this idea of knowing one is loved that I most want to explore, of how it expands and lifts much like natural light to the spirit or water to the root. And I think of separation, especially that of lovers, and of what sustains against the miles, of those bonds unseen but to the heart. There is a love in her grandparents we have yet to explore, a great wilderness of wonder and delight and it is times like this I wish I were sitting on a trust fund. :-D
You know, I think there is something magical about campfires. Almost mythological. As if the fire itself before the night sky conjures the telling of tales sown deep in the soul or psyche. And I too can hear the crackling of wood and the flickering shadows on each of their faces, of eyes longing and looking, some downcast, some wide, and some snoot laden as of lead lidded. :-D
i can't tell you what this particular scene and ritual of love means to me, the way your words fill me with longing for that light, for that love, for that gesture which contains a world -
and i couldn't live without tea
again, thank you for a wonderful page of literature and life
Roxana, you always warm my heart in ways that are hard to explain. Thanks for stopping by. I'll make some fresh tea if you have the time. :-)
the very heat of love.
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