“A dry riverbed remembers moisture.”
My heart remembers love. A time ago.
Was it yesterday or the yesterday before that?
Its fiery embers lie in the deep shadows of the valley.
And its red strands can be sensed on the highest ridges of the hills.
Waiting for the return of the wave.
Waiting for the return of love, believing itself to be barren. Yet it is only hidden from even the most astute seeker.
The piercing arrow’s path in the bed of the heart had been filled in with balm.
Being smoothed soft by the seasons of time and Grace.
The arrow was last seen passing through the veil of the known, targeting the deep mystery beyond.
Leaving behind a field of possibilities and hope.
My heart is ready for fullness again.
As the mere thought of it creates a swelling within.
It begins in a small crevice at the bottom of my heart.
Gradually, expanding into the center itself, open for the sweet fruit to blossom in its time.
As my heart remembers love.
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