Love can come like raindrops on a spring day,
pattering down,
cool on your skin under the scudding puffs of cloud,
the easy breeze touching your hair and lifting your heart
with the anticipation of possibility and adventure,
your face gradually dampening
with drops that fall thicker through the swirling wind
as the sky grows ever more gray,
until the cold flood pours down in stinging sheets,
the gusts catch your breath,
thunder rumbles its warning,
and you run, run, run
for refuge.
Love can come like a sprout,
a young sapling, sprung from a seed planted who knows when,
growing undetected
branches reaching
roots pushing wide and deep through the rich, loamy soil,
until cool shade draws your gaze upward to see its canopy spreading overhead
as you find yourself safe in its solid embrace,
realization dawns of how you have been growing together
entwined, interdependent,
into tall oak companions,
constant, enduring, timeless.
Love can come like a solitary key along the path,
holding the promise of something undiscovered,
offering its invitation,
waiting,
until you stoop to pick it up
fit its bitting to the keyway
feel the tumblers click as your heart turns,
breaks open
spills over--
surging, cascading, as you're swept away
weightless
drifting
soaring
wondering at its existence,
this key in your hand,
a perfect match.
