Morning Rain

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain outside my window. There was just enough light to see the trees with their newly sprouted buds swaying in the wind. A quick check on the time showed I had a few minutes before I had to rise and head out into the weather to exercise.

So I burrowed back under the covers and placed my hand on your hip, my nose close to your hair so I can breathe you in. I run my hand up your back and under the hairs at the back of your head and you make the contented sigh of someone who knows they get to stay in bed for another hour on this stormy dawn.

It feels so good to be close to you, to communicate in the early morning light by tender touch and silent affection, to have that certainty that you are my friend, lover, and life partner. It is nice to be reassured by our intimacy at the start of the day.

Of course, the problem is that I’m imagining you, and as I head out the door to log my training miles in the warming, but still cold and wet Vermont Spring, I wonder when I will meet you, or if I already have but we haven’t figured out yet that now, in this time and in this place, we are meant for each other. I have to go out of town on business today; maybe you will be on my plane, or maybe I looked into your eyes briefly as I was getting coffee today, or perhaps you drove past me as I was running, dripping with rain and sweat, or maybe you’re out there on Match or some other virtual meeting place.

Wherever you are, know that I am living as best and as fully as I can in the moment. You fill my dreams at night and, ever the optimist, I am on the lookout for you as I go through each day.