Maea
Like a moth to a flame
burned by the fire
burned by the fire
The garden was growing in nicely. Vines of honeysuckle and wild roses wound its way around the perimeter around the Treehouse, and stepping past the arched entryway saw an area transformed by patient diligence, where a cobbled path wound past garden beds and patches of wildflower bursting with colour. The drone of honey bees humming from flower to flower filled the dappled sunlight, hot and fragrant in the late afternoon, and from some half hidden fountain the trickle of water could be heard tumbling into a freshly dug pond.
Stepping barefoot onto the porch with a tray in her hands, Maea smiled at the sight of Liam's bulk filling one of the chairs. Once, she had assumed that laying eyes on him would become an ordinary thing in time, that she would start to take his presence just a little bit for granted, but so far there was no sign of that happening. Her stomach fluttered softly, a gentle little lirch of gladness to have him back with her, and as she came padding over she barely noticed the fruits of her labor - too lost in the play of sunlight over his skin. Setting the tray down and pouring a cold fizzy drink from the dewing pitcher, she nestled herself on the armrest of his chair and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Offering it to him, Maea nestled her head back against his where it had been earlier, content to simply breathe the scent of his skin and listen to the forest, to his breath and the gently rising bubbles in the glass.
Lately, her peace had been like this. Silent and complete, filled with the small daily things that once had made her restless and discontent, longing to be elsewhere. Now she hardly left the house, and certainly not the forest. Travel boots had gathered dust in the rack, and she took more delight in the successfully baked loaf of bread than at news from distant lands. It was her cookies laid out on the plate bebside the pitcher, her own mint grown and tended that left its icy fragrance on her fingertips, hers all the beehives and budding apples and boquets of drying herbs hanging beneath the eaves over their heads. Days like these, she felt as though she'd walked into a dream without end. Sun bright and honey sweet.
Stepping barefoot onto the porch with a tray in her hands, Maea smiled at the sight of Liam's bulk filling one of the chairs. Once, she had assumed that laying eyes on him would become an ordinary thing in time, that she would start to take his presence just a little bit for granted, but so far there was no sign of that happening. Her stomach fluttered softly, a gentle little lirch of gladness to have him back with her, and as she came padding over she barely noticed the fruits of her labor - too lost in the play of sunlight over his skin. Setting the tray down and pouring a cold fizzy drink from the dewing pitcher, she nestled herself on the armrest of his chair and slipped an arm around his shoulders. Offering it to him, Maea nestled her head back against his where it had been earlier, content to simply breathe the scent of his skin and listen to the forest, to his breath and the gently rising bubbles in the glass.
Lately, her peace had been like this. Silent and complete, filled with the small daily things that once had made her restless and discontent, longing to be elsewhere. Now she hardly left the house, and certainly not the forest. Travel boots had gathered dust in the rack, and she took more delight in the successfully baked loaf of bread than at news from distant lands. It was her cookies laid out on the plate bebside the pitcher, her own mint grown and tended that left its icy fragrance on her fingertips, hers all the beehives and budding apples and boquets of drying herbs hanging beneath the eaves over their heads. Days like these, she felt as though she'd walked into a dream without end. Sun bright and honey sweet.
That's the way love goes
