Let's just attribute it to having too much time on my hands, to having no real control mechanism in place in my life to help keep me in my seat or on the couch in front of a movie or in the sack..er.. reading a good book. Yes, we can say that this WHMB has an abundance of time, a long term ache in his heart and a number of ways that he can show it, guerilla style.
Last night it was a form of counting coup, or maybe just something out of a Shakespeare play. I didn't have my Julliet up in the window, and I didn't touch my staff to the shoulder of my opponent, but I did get out into the night and deliver a slight trembling note, a rememberance, a touch of my heart, to a quiet and sleeping world.
I did to the soundtrack of silence and a motor purring and a Cindy Lauper album. I took to the night like the wind, stealthy like a fox, lumbering along like the big man that I am. I drove and saw that the world burned lights late into the night, that folks go to sleep earlier than I expected on work nights. I went out and half expected to see the world waiting for me, expectant, whistling me along my way, but instead I drove and saw no one about.
If you had looked at my passenger seat you would have seen two fresh cut dahlias, one a starburst looking thing and the other a pom pom. Symbolic in itself, but made moreso that they came out of my yard. The scissors on the passenger seat would have been incriminating in unto themselves, but it was my smile, my disposition, my aching boldness that set me and those dahlias apart from the crowd. Why would I want to continue this fruitless mission so late into the night when what was waiting for me not only tonight but for the rest of my life was a lifetime of nothingness and feigned indifference? I might as well have walked down to the waterfront and tossed those dahlias at the starfish, at the sea, at memories, but I had to what needed to be done and that was to toss those dahlias on her lawn instead.
The months of September and October are filled with days and events loaded with import and those dahlias were like a Western Union telegram being delivered straight to her heart. It would have made no more of a difference if I had sent them via messenger or by a florist service or UPS. I made it my mission to get those flowers to that woman, that true love, that gal who stole my heart in the midst of a dahlia strewn lane oh so many years ago. I had a mission, sure, and it was reckless, but what can you do when even four years later you are still in love, living with a love that goes beyond boundaries, time and patience? I know that I would test the waters of that woman's memory the next day but I was being tested right then and there and once that ignition was fired and the car headed down the drive there was nothing, not a damn thing I could do but go along with it. Follow the car, the stars and my heart into the dark of the woods.
So I wandered into the Woods in the still of the night and drove around and up past her door and parked the car up the block and walked oh so slowly, so quietly as the crunchy asphalt would allow. I walked up to the edge of her lawn, looked up to her window and whispered a silent prayer and tossed those two dahilas into the air, heard them whistling as they arced through that quiet night air. I saw them land and with that turned around, opened my car door, sighed, turned over the motor and drove away.
I took a chance last night, I could have run into late night patrols, my car could have broke down along the highway or I could have had a light out or any number of things to get me caught up in the dragnet. I could have been seen or discovered or found out in my silliness which would have taken the shine out of things all together. But it went off flawlessly. Two years running, two deliveries of flowers in the dead of night, two years where the gesture wasn't acknowledged but still. I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall when those curtains of her's were thrown back this morning, to see what ever it was that passed over her face.
Last night I went on a reckless drive through the dead of night and know that's how love goes. Still, quiet and absolutely crazy, but that's what makes it beautiful. Mad, tender, sweet love in the form of dahlias on the lawn. Your lawn, Jane. Delivered with love.
Your WHMB
Last night it was a form of counting coup, or maybe just something out of a Shakespeare play. I didn't have my Julliet up in the window, and I didn't touch my staff to the shoulder of my opponent, but I did get out into the night and deliver a slight trembling note, a rememberance, a touch of my heart, to a quiet and sleeping world.
I did to the soundtrack of silence and a motor purring and a Cindy Lauper album. I took to the night like the wind, stealthy like a fox, lumbering along like the big man that I am. I drove and saw that the world burned lights late into the night, that folks go to sleep earlier than I expected on work nights. I went out and half expected to see the world waiting for me, expectant, whistling me along my way, but instead I drove and saw no one about.
If you had looked at my passenger seat you would have seen two fresh cut dahlias, one a starburst looking thing and the other a pom pom. Symbolic in itself, but made moreso that they came out of my yard. The scissors on the passenger seat would have been incriminating in unto themselves, but it was my smile, my disposition, my aching boldness that set me and those dahlias apart from the crowd. Why would I want to continue this fruitless mission so late into the night when what was waiting for me not only tonight but for the rest of my life was a lifetime of nothingness and feigned indifference? I might as well have walked down to the waterfront and tossed those dahlias at the starfish, at the sea, at memories, but I had to what needed to be done and that was to toss those dahlias on her lawn instead.
The months of September and October are filled with days and events loaded with import and those dahlias were like a Western Union telegram being delivered straight to her heart. It would have made no more of a difference if I had sent them via messenger or by a florist service or UPS. I made it my mission to get those flowers to that woman, that true love, that gal who stole my heart in the midst of a dahlia strewn lane oh so many years ago. I had a mission, sure, and it was reckless, but what can you do when even four years later you are still in love, living with a love that goes beyond boundaries, time and patience? I know that I would test the waters of that woman's memory the next day but I was being tested right then and there and once that ignition was fired and the car headed down the drive there was nothing, not a damn thing I could do but go along with it. Follow the car, the stars and my heart into the dark of the woods.
So I wandered into the Woods in the still of the night and drove around and up past her door and parked the car up the block and walked oh so slowly, so quietly as the crunchy asphalt would allow. I walked up to the edge of her lawn, looked up to her window and whispered a silent prayer and tossed those two dahilas into the air, heard them whistling as they arced through that quiet night air. I saw them land and with that turned around, opened my car door, sighed, turned over the motor and drove away.
I took a chance last night, I could have run into late night patrols, my car could have broke down along the highway or I could have had a light out or any number of things to get me caught up in the dragnet. I could have been seen or discovered or found out in my silliness which would have taken the shine out of things all together. But it went off flawlessly. Two years running, two deliveries of flowers in the dead of night, two years where the gesture wasn't acknowledged but still. I would have given anything to be a fly on the wall when those curtains of her's were thrown back this morning, to see what ever it was that passed over her face.
Last night I went on a reckless drive through the dead of night and know that's how love goes. Still, quiet and absolutely crazy, but that's what makes it beautiful. Mad, tender, sweet love in the form of dahlias on the lawn. Your lawn, Jane. Delivered with love.
Your WHMB
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