His Lady, His Lover, His Friend.

He watched her, his lady, from a distance.  Smiled at the way the warm rays of the sun, soon to set on the horizon, highlighted the golden flecks of the waves of her hair. The light upon her looked like a hallow. She was beautiful to him. Her loveliness was unlike any other, for she did not captivate him with words or with the usual trappings. No, hers was a way with her eyes, perfect and deep brown, sincere in every since of the way. 1386126628n26qk

Twelve years had she dedicated to him, living with him faithfully in the city all the while desiring what was true, what was pure, what was nature, and it wasn’t until then, now, in the decrescendo of her existence that he able to give her what she had truly longed for…a home in the country, under the brilliant moons and stars, bathed in the glow of  setting suns.

He let her sit moments longer, watching as his face warmed into a doting smile. Her ears perked  with each fresh sound as nature prepared its evening tune.

His lover, only having been his for half as long as his lady, ran her hand across his chest. The glint of her ring shining in the sun, the hardness of her belly, swollen with new life pressed against his side. She whispered in his ear, her face so close to his, he could feel the smile growing upon it. Her words were the sweetest nectar.

His insides churned with effervescent joy and delight. Happiness was not a sufficient word to describe what he was feeling. It warmed him, it calmed him, it excited him and made him feel as if he were soaring clear into the heavens, right into the arms of his Friend.

His Friend…the One who had given him all of these things, each and every silent moment full of choruses too pure to be heard beyond the walls of his soul. His Friend…the Creator of each kiss and every tear, every waking moment of hope, and every full glass of mirth that he had had the pleasure to be sated with.

He looked up and felt the heat of  a salted tear crest the corner of his eye and with his hand upon his heart he thanked his Father and God, he thanked his beloved Friend. Then he  called upon his lady, wrapped his arm securely upon his lover, and with a heart welling with contentment he guided them back home in the love of his Friend.


This story came quite by accident, listening to “I Dream of You” by JJ Heller and glancing at the image shown in the story. It seems today I am stumbling upon many happy accidents. I don’t know about you, but this story warmed me. Being the author/artist of a piece does not mean that I have the chance to garner some level of pride for the work I do. More than anything (although I am proud to have done what I have done) I have a sense of humble appreciation. I always get a front row seat to creative moments, no matter the tone or expression. This moment I count as a gift from my Friend. I was not looking for it. Actually I was ready to put my hand to my sketchbook and draw, but instead I wrote and I am grateful for it. I hope you enjoyed what you have read. And do take a listen to the song that sparked my inspiration. 😉


Cheers Fellow Soup Seekers!



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