July 14th is Bastille Day, the French National Day commemorating the beginning of the French Revolution in 1789. (I believe the folks mark the occasion with fireworks.)
One hundred eighty four years later, in l973, my husband and I were married. There are still a few fireworks.
That was forty-two years ago; by God’s grace alone (and my husband’s persistence and loyalty) we are still married.
I wrote this poem in 2002 after a visit to ‘home’–Southern California–and realized home is where my husband is. Yep, it’s true.
Your smile, your arms, your lips.
The anchors tethering my wandering,
There is a safety in our past
landmarks of history reminding me
who I am
why I’m here,
what my life is about.
The house your father built, holding you for a while
this backyard tree, a shady shelter to picnics past
those walls around a home no longer ours, ghosts of
children and their laughter in the air.
I’ve gone away–here–for now
with time and space to think
and dream of other days.
Map in hand, I cover the miles
Past houses, coast and mountain,
Over hills, through time and back again.
I travel in bursts and circles,
like airborne colors, meteoric spurts
up and out,
then flickering out and quietly spent
always come back to you.~~~~~~linking with Jennifer for Tell His Story