On magic curtains and love

Written but not published in October:

A special someone has a magic curtain. He wrapped it around me so that I could change before we bathed in jellyfish-festooned waters. In the simplicity of that action I witnessed tenderness incarnate and a little part of my soul shimmered and is shimmering still, like the mother of pearl incandescence on the shells strewn by the sea, round about. 

Change is in the air. New moon, new pencil cases, new kings, disappearing queens. And other news, mostly hidden from sight by the abundant pageantry that surrounds us. Old leaves, starting to crumble,  whisk around me as I bicycle along a familiar route, into a new season. 

My career break must end. I have rested and reflected. Left my caravan; built my temple. I seek new shores.  

My Phoenix snores gently in some darkened recess, suspecting, I think, that I will stumble and fall. I sense that she raises one eyebrow at my efforts even as she sleeps. I tidy noisily around her, and thus we circle one another, in an awkward, semi-playful dance of wills.

I am gathering my energy and opening myself to possibility. Taking gentle, tentative steps. Aware that not everyone has this luxury. Aware that I want to make the best choices that I can, for myself. Ten months have passed so quickly. I am open to change.