dancing with destiny

upon a windswept beach, world all but forgotten. a driftwood fire dances to the music of creation. accompanied by a lonely foghorn, the crashing surf completes mother nature’s rhythm section. the fertile lushness of the night sky is shrouded by the ethereal glow of pre dawn. a quiet fog hugs the shore, a lover searching for the warmth of another. an old, hand-sewn quilt lies upon the sand. a half empty bottle of chardonnay and an empty paper cup anchor one end, three empty and three full corona bottles anchor the other. the quilt itself is home to the intertwined legs and warm beating hearts belonging to the souls of two scarred and battered beings. veterans of the war games lovers like to play they had given up the ghost of their remaining dreams. believing that love was just another escapee from pandora’s box. a ritual created not by lovers but by players for manipulating the naïve, the gullible and the lost. forever cynical they roamed the outskirts of life neither expecting love nor contributing to the carnage. but even those drowning in cynicism can still respond to the touch of a fellow worshipper at the altar of lost love. in a cantina, on the coast of nowhere they sat drinking away the pain. as often happens in lonely bars around the world, war stories were shared, scars compared. debates of who suffered, who bled, who lost more when compromising in the faint hope of appeasing the demons. when the old bartender was ready to close they found themselves walking shoes in hand along the shore. the salt of their tears mixing with the salt of the early April breeze. in the damp evening air they soon began to sober, realizing to their surprise that the attraction they felt went beyond the cosmetic enhancing alcohol provides. throwing caution to the wind they awoke sleeping sea lions chasing them into the ocean until exhausted themselves they fell into the water convulsing with the laughter that can only come with release of great emotions. dripping salt water marked their trail, following them until they found the embers of a fire left behind by some clandestine midnight lovers. while she stoked the fire he went to his car returning with the alcohol and the blanket. lost in the comfort of an early silence they contemplated that this had the feel of something more than a one-night stand. like the dragons of yesteryear fear arose but the lord and lady drove a spear through its heart refusing to give up without a fight.

the old quilt was the home to the intertwined legs and joyful hearts of two souls dancing with destiny.