Discovery.

Once upon a time, exactly three years ago today, a very amazing (and very handsome man) asked me out at a coffee shop.  I said yes.  I'll save the other delightful, sad, hard, and romantic details of that story for another time.  What this little tale is about is how one day, shortly after we had just met, he surprised me by picking me up in his Discovery and taking me to San Francisco and then to a lovely place north of the city called Stinson Beach.  When we got there, he pulled out a bottle of wine and a blanket and instructed me to grab something he had stowed in the glove box.  What I found in there caused my mouth to fall open in surprise.   There was the latest book of my favorite poet, Billy Collins, whose name I had dropped once in a conversation and forgotten all about.  We sat on the beach, sipping wine, watching the sunset, and reading poetry aloud to each other.  It was one of the many ways in which Adam won my heart slowly but surely.

Much later, I came across the book again and wrote this poem in a moment of nostalgia.  Our happily ever after didn't begin that day on the beach; we took a long time to get where we are now.  But again, that's a story for another time.  The beautiful part is that we finally did make it to the beginning of our story.  I am the happiest girl alive knowing that I get to intertwine my hand with his, that I get to discover new things about him every day, and that our journey has just begun.

This morning as I was buzzing awake to the smell of espresso,

I reached for a book I had not read for awhile.

As I cracked it open, sand fell from the pages --

granulated memories of that day you surprised me

with the new hardcover and a trip to the coast.

We read the passages aloud to each other on a blanket

and I watched the unabashed light of the sun

reveal every imperfection of your face

that the softness of candlelight conceals.

I discovered that day that I loved you more for it.

I was intrigued with the different shades of your eyes

more than the sunset sky,

the lines of your face more than the cascade of waves beyond.

And later, when the orange slice of the moon above

was balancing on the rim of the martini glass of the world below,

you interlocked your fingers with mine,

your other hand on the steering wheel,

my other hand on my book.

By the way, if you have never read Billy Collins(my Muse in many ways), you are missing out on a delightful adventure.  He is a master of mixing melancholy with humor and wit with substance.  Fall in love with words all over again or fall in love with poetry for the first time, as I did when I read him.