The Perfect Arrangement of Stardust

it's cold out

the tail-end of fall blurring into winter. 

we step out of the bright glow of the fire in the front room, over the scuffed threshold, catching the screen door to keep it from banging.

our boots make sharp, hollow sounds on the boards of the old porch.

it's dark out too, even with the moon rising slowly over the crest of the mountain like an old woman rising from a chair.

 thin silvery light spills over the ridge line and into the bowl of our valley.

i step off the porch next to you and your hand finds mine in the dark. 

yours is warm, and you give my fingers a little squeeze then curl your hand around my own, tucking both into your coat pocket.

i can see the cloud your breath makes as you exhale slowly through your nose.

i time my breathing to match yours, watching the vapor mingle and rise, disappearing up into the night sky.

 fallen leaves and gravel crunch under our feet as we walk slowly together up the lane way, toward the postbox at the end of our road. 

this is our own nightly ritual. one of several that lends to our days an easy, comfortable cadence. 

a walk to the end of the driveway most evenings.

sometimes, i wonder what you're thinking. 

other times i'm lost in my own thoughts.

more often we chat, you pointing out constellations and sometimes a helicopter to me.

but sometimes we're just quiet together. 

it isn't silent out here, though. our footfalls join the low nicker of the horses in the barn.

a hen clucks and now, in the distance, an owl calls.

against the night sky, i see you turn your face toward mine, to see if i heard it. 

i flex my fingers in your pocket, letting you know that i heard it too.

at the end of the lane way, you will stop.

you pull me close to you and i wrap my arms around your waist, and up your back 

you prop your chin on top of my head, as you always do.

i can hear your heart beat in that steady rhythm that slows me down and brings me back to right here. i rub my cheek on the worn flannel of your shirt.

i warm my face on your neck.

your coat still smells a bit like the bonfire from a few nights ago, one of my very favorite things.

we look together back over the ancient farmhouse in the moonlight, the dark line of mountains in the distance, the rickety old barn, and the crooked apple trees dotting the lane. 

in a moment, we'll start back, faster than before. we'll tiptoe quickly up the porch steps and catch the screen door to keep it from slamming. 

back into the bright warmth of the cheery fire inside (though that's not the heat we're hurrying to just now) quickly tugging off boots and coats. 

a flurry of kisses, and then we slow down. We both enjoy the wait.

while i slip out of my jeans and into one of your old flannel shirts, you'll open a bottle of wine, or start some hot chocolate on the stove. 

i'll meet you on the sofa and we'll warm each other up.

later, while you doze with your head cradled in my lap, i drop a kiss on your forehead, my finger tracing your eyebrow, your nose. you smile the tiniest smile in your sleep and it occurs to me as it always does:

the peeling paint, the creaky boards, the scents of flannel, chocolate, hay and leather, 

the old shirt (now keeping company with your jeans on the floor), the moonlight over the valley, the shared pocket of your coat,  

the kids upstairs sleeping safe and warm, the dogs curled at our feet, the black cat purring on the back of an armchair,

the bent apple trees

the owl, calling in the night

you

it's really everything i've ever wanted. 

 <HBD, PRH>