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Moonlight Halo
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| Storm by Pierre-Augueste Cot |
His breath was heavy in the thin, chilled air. I suppose mine was too, although it wasn't the focus of my attention. He was. His long, slow rhythms, the stars visible over his shoulder, so close it seemed I could pluck them from the sky. I shifted my gaze. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the slick sensations of the moment, as pleasurable to me as him. Enjoying his hard work, luxuriating in feeling soft and receptive, alternating currents raced through me, hot, cold, in, out, until the final undeniable spasms--shaking, shuddering, washing, melding, melting us into one.
I didn't hear myself cry out, but his smile told me I had. Nothing finer for him than my moans, my calling to God, my inability to be quiet under his caress. We didn't uncouple. Holding me close, he rolled over on his back, I now astride. "The moon should never move; it's a silver halo shining through your golden hair."
His hand played in the halo, untangling my long tresses, as gentle as ever. He relaxed beneath me, content to be on top of the mountain, alone with me. Below, we could hear the waves crashing against the rocks. That's where we started, a simple barefoot walk with the fine, wet sand between our toes. Quiet murmurings after the loud, dizzying dance floor. It was impulse when I climbed upon the mossy boulder and began to pluck petals from the bouquet, tossing them one by one into the surf, the ancient chant springing from within, unbidden, unknown, yet entirely familiar, as if I had lived it before. He stood transfixed, a silent sanction to continue. I did.
First loosening my blouse, then my skirt, they billowed in the breeze, which gently tugged them free. I danced, my tender feet not harmed by the sharp barnacles, my mind full of ancient wisdom, my body with maternal knowing. Because suddenly I did know. I was pregnant. I shouted it into the night, catching him by surprise, stealing his breath with my words, even as I leapt into the surf, confident of safety, confident he would follow. He did.
The surf did not roar then, seeming to quiet its efforts to accommodate our presence. It kissed the craggy cliffs as we left the wet realm to tread upon dry granite transformed into dirt, a reminder that all things decay, including wind swept stone. The spiraling, upward path did not tire me nor him. I barely registered its familiar twists, barely was aware of its steep ascent. And then we were here. And the rest of the world was gone. Only us. Only here. Only the moon and the stars and our baby.
