Saturday, June 04, 2011

The Promise of Rain


We were in the middle of a field searching for four leaf clovers at his insistence when the rain came. He wanted a child and this was his way of insuring its future? He wanted a sign. Well, this was a sign. Anger narrowed my eyes, darkened my vision like the graying sky. We should be sowing crops. What did this man have to offer? Why was I here? Our gazes met and I looked away.

Luck evaded us. Debts were high. Even the sun deserted us, yet, he never quit believing in something, in us. Why I wasn’t sure. Did I want to stay, right now or forever? I didn’t believe in taking chances. He was reckless, always dreaming and though we were soaked his callused fingers kept skimming the vegetation.

“Stupid,” I said.

He twisted from me and I saw for the first time the slump that often pained my shoulders, but never his. Defeat, resignation knotted his turned back. My hands clutched the ground as it dropped beneath me, though it didn’t really, it was only my heart. Was he giving up?

Thunder sounded, shocked me from my thoughts. He jumped to his feet. I reached out, grabbed a hand, pulled him down, felt the soft caress of lips wet with passion, and tasted the essence of the day. My hands undressed us. Mud coated the blush of bare limbs. He watched my every movement, let me decide where this was going.

"Stupid," I said, "Not to plant seed when rain's promised."

He plucked a clover from the meadow. It had four leaves. I held his gaze. The green matched the dreams in his eyes. He tucked it in my hair. Heat warmed the earth upon which we lay.

2 comments:

John Wiswell said...

To plant a desired seed where you know it'll grow - not shabby advice.

DeborahB said...

John, wondered if anyone would get the double meaning. :)