Three little words
Three wonderful words describe my favorite time of the day. Twilight is of the Dutch "tweelicht" and the German "zwielicht," which translates as "half" light, and "a holding together, or junction." Evening is a turn on the Old English word "æfen," which referred to the "day before a saint's day or festival." It evolved from its original meaning to the use it enjoys today. Gloaming is formerly "glomung", a Proto-Germanic word combining "glom", meaning "twilight," and also related to "glowan", which means "to glow."
All three words conjure peace and coolth, crickets and fireflies. A slowing and relaxing. Transition from life as we have to conduct it, to life as we want to live it.
Don't you just love language?
I love the long, cool evenings that Arizona supplies at this time of year. I am at present lounging on a lounge (gasp!) chair on the patio. I am near the open door to the bedroom, in order to be within proximity of Calvin (who is on the computer); and also to be able to hear the 80's music coming from Sirius. Calvin just turned the bedroom light off, and suddenly I am in near-darkness. If someone looked over the back wall, it would probably look like I was a bodyless head, hovering over the chair, visible only by the glow of my monitor, body lost in shadow.
Calvin and I just got back from TGI Friday's patio, where we sat next to one another, my feet in Calvin's lap, sipping beer and watching the world drive by (the patio is near the plaza entrance from a main road). I love watching the changing light on Calvin's face, whether he's animatedly chatting, smiling with his eyes into mine, or sitting pensive and quiet. White and stark against his skin at first, the light softens slightly to yellow, changing more perceptively to gold and then moments later to rose, gentling into coral, and finally fading into sepia before the final darkening.
As I often do, I watched Calvin this evening. He'd catch me watching and duck his head, or stare back and say, "What?" It doesn't disturb him as much as it used to in the beginning, when he didn't know quite what to do with my habit of sitting, chin in hand, just watching the play of character across his face. Tonight, his eyes alternated between distant and lost in thought, or glowing green and loving as he engaged my eyes, talking and listening.
The sharpness of his features smoothed as the light changed, drawing my attention from face to voice. To his hand tucked up under the cuff of my jeans, massaging for the skin-on-skin contact. To his voice drawing nearer and sending chills up the nape of my neck as he leaned in for a kiss. To the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent that is all his own.
This time of year reminds me of when he and I first started seeing each other. Which is why I wax poetic. Eight years and I'm still madly in love with him. He still gives me butterflies. I love to gift him with the more traditional "three little words" a thousand times a day.
Calvin, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
All three words conjure peace and coolth, crickets and fireflies. A slowing and relaxing. Transition from life as we have to conduct it, to life as we want to live it.
Don't you just love language?
I love the long, cool evenings that Arizona supplies at this time of year. I am at present lounging on a lounge (gasp!) chair on the patio. I am near the open door to the bedroom, in order to be within proximity of Calvin (who is on the computer); and also to be able to hear the 80's music coming from Sirius. Calvin just turned the bedroom light off, and suddenly I am in near-darkness. If someone looked over the back wall, it would probably look like I was a bodyless head, hovering over the chair, visible only by the glow of my monitor, body lost in shadow.
Calvin and I just got back from TGI Friday's patio, where we sat next to one another, my feet in Calvin's lap, sipping beer and watching the world drive by (the patio is near the plaza entrance from a main road). I love watching the changing light on Calvin's face, whether he's animatedly chatting, smiling with his eyes into mine, or sitting pensive and quiet. White and stark against his skin at first, the light softens slightly to yellow, changing more perceptively to gold and then moments later to rose, gentling into coral, and finally fading into sepia before the final darkening.
As I often do, I watched Calvin this evening. He'd catch me watching and duck his head, or stare back and say, "What?" It doesn't disturb him as much as it used to in the beginning, when he didn't know quite what to do with my habit of sitting, chin in hand, just watching the play of character across his face. Tonight, his eyes alternated between distant and lost in thought, or glowing green and loving as he engaged my eyes, talking and listening.
The sharpness of his features smoothed as the light changed, drawing my attention from face to voice. To his hand tucked up under the cuff of my jeans, massaging for the skin-on-skin contact. To his voice drawing nearer and sending chills up the nape of my neck as he leaned in for a kiss. To the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent that is all his own.
This time of year reminds me of when he and I first started seeing each other. Which is why I wax poetic. Eight years and I'm still madly in love with him. He still gives me butterflies. I love to gift him with the more traditional "three little words" a thousand times a day.
Calvin, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
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