Saturday, November 8, 2014

fan vaults

Wooing me,
I swoon.
Winning me,
I falter.
Wanting me,
my knees fall out from under me,
and I collapse,
my entire being blushing under
the weight and force
and warmth of something new.
I am wooed by the autumn leaves falling at my feet.
By the delicate sprawl of fan vaults over the lily-white dome of the Church sepulchre.
I am awed by the stone arranging itself into a lacy net of beauty.
I am dumbstruck by the glory in the sky--a vibrant, gaudy, unabashed pink.
It is the color of someone trying to sweep you off your feet.
I am secretly delighted by the birdsong in the Park, at the Conservatory Water on a Sunday morning.
I stop in my tracks and stare at the Cityscape, rising above the dark trees circling Jackie O's Resevoir. We don't have stars here in the City, and I miss them like I miss my home, but these brilliant lights of skyscrapers, penthouses, and apartments towers are not a poor substitute. As they loom over the glassy, peaceful water, they waver in the night breeze, like a thousand constellations.
Just like it does when I receive a vase of flowers, the color rises in my face as I waltz through the rain, just me, the rose-scented beads in my pocket, and my little red umbrella.
As I pause outside an embassy apartment, I feel like Cinderella. There, in the warm, bright lights of a Madison Avenue townhouse, with wood floors, high ceilings, and a chandelier hanging in the window, is a brilliant gathering of brilliant, dazzling people.
Dressed in black, stylish, silent, sparkling, they file out of limousines, and are ushered out of the rain into the pristine interior, as smooth and warm as mother-of-pearl.
I paused on the sidewalk and watched the world continue. As I stood outside, the lights of the homes refracting against the raindrops and casting strange light on the treetops, I felt a delicious thrill of being outside the moment, and yet in the heart of it.
Although I wasn't a part of the party that was happening across the street, I felt that I was at the center of some moment, lit up by the street lights and the smell of raindrops on the sidewalk.
A whiff of petrichor smotes my heart.
I am being wooed and wanted, and utterly won.

No comments:

Post a Comment