photo by Wikipedia
The narrow sidewalk through the village is uneven and littered with disposable items of life. The pathway narrowed even further with the occasional trees planted years ago, now uprooting the pavers around them. The hour is now late. The bus shelters are vacant of passengers and no other pedestrians are in sight; yet the evidence of life bounces across the sound waves. The hour is now late but the Lover is in no hurry nor concerned by potential harm. He walks quietly and confidently along the journey, pausing as the open windows reveal where seeds of Love fall.
From the windows of the row house just a couple of streets over came bursting forth the sounds of a man and woman entrenched in verbal warfare. The ominous and booming sounds cause the One below on the sidewalk to look up. Time has not been kind to this man and woman. His yellowed, almost nonexistent t-shirt and faded boxer shorts were stretched around a rotund belly. He waved a cigar in the air with animated hand motions while he bellowed at the woman. Her house dress clung damply to her nondescript body. She returned his verbal passion with one of her own. She waved a glass in the air with animated hand motions while she bellowed at the man. Today is their wedding anniversary, just a rerun of their wedding day and every day in between.
From the first floor windows of the brownstone on the corner, One can see the man sitting at his desk, hovering over a computer monitor. The blue glow in the room is emanating from the widescreen TV in the corner. From the window above him, a woman is daringly clad in front of a mirror, dancing in rhythm to the music pulsing from the box on the dresser. Six months ago, the sounds flowing from their second floor window were of passionate lovers.
In the next neighborhood, the semi-detached houses are tended with care. The small cars are carefully parked off the street and in the drive. Faded plastic outdoor playgrounds, balls and bikes litter the enclosed front gardens. The father anxiously paces in the front room with the mobile phone held to his ear. Down the corridor in the kitchen, the mother is clamoring about with pots and pans, all the while yelling upstairs to the children to finish up their schoolwork soon and to come down for dinner. Today is their wedding anniversary, but the images of a couple bursting with anticipation and devotion for each other as they exit the chapel are far from their minds.
The little cottage in the outskirts of town is very simple. Blooms with bright splashes of color fill the window boxes, a sharp contrast to the pale yellow paint of the home. The lace nettings hanging in the windows flutter in the breeze, revealing the warm glow of lamplight within. The front porch is swept clean and tidy, the chairs worn but inviting. A phonograph is playing from atop a metal table in the corner of the porch. The outline provided from the glow in the window reveals a couple sitting side-by-side on the porch glider, holding hands and with heads bent together as they whisper of sweet memories. Today is their wedding anniversary, just a rerun of their wedding day and every day in between. The images yellowed with time of a couple bursting with anticipation and devotion for each other as they exit the chapel are held dear in their hearts.
Seeds of Love are scattered but may never be received. Where seeds fall on shallow ground, the pleasure lasts but temporarily. Where seeds fall and the cares of life choke it down, its potential is never realized. Where seeds fall in well-tended soil, the fruit of it multiplies 30, 60 and a 100 times over. The Lover waits along the narrow pathway, almost unseen and unnoticed, ready to write yet another chapter in His story of love.
