I walked up the trail under a Maxfield Parrish sky and thought of the loves I have known….Now comes the sound of the needle scratching over the vinyl.
There WAS a Maxfield Parrish sky. Rolling hills and bare winter oaks like black lace against the dusk. A red tail hawk, as large as an eagle, called and flew by. My dog ran in front of me up the trail, looking for the scent of anything and everything.
I was thinking of a theme for a romance story. Maybe looking back on the men of my past. I tried to compare each one to great romance books I’d read, but there was no comparison. Fond memories are even fonder now that I know that they are happily married with families. We’ve all grown up and become middle aged. Romance is now something else.
The thrill of the hunt now comes from finding the perfect light fixture for the downstairs bathroom. It is stealing a kiss at the child’s sport practice. It is piling up on the couch under a blanket and watching TV and talking about history and art and school and planning the next party while trying to figure out who the killer is and why we watch shows with such bad writing. It is from taking the leap and telling my husband to start that business he always dreamed of. It is about finishing a book or two or three. It is about building and creating – and that is romance. Along with the hand that brushes the small of my back when we’re in the kitchen, the hand that takes mine when we walk together, the afternoon “just checking in” calls, and the kisses that never get old or tired.