This Thing Called Life

Last night I danced with my beloved. His hand pressed tightly against the small of my back. The room blurred and unfocused as our spinning disorientated and thrilled me. Our feet moving in close rhythm – lightly, joyfully. The heat flushing my cheeks causing my hair to cling to my temples and neck.

A beautiful memory of limb and muscle that reminded us of so many other dances where we have held one another close and shared our love for the music, our love for each other.

Last night I remembered just how much I love dancing, how much I love my husband, how much I love this thing called life.

Afterwards we drank whisky – single malt, Laphroig, neat. The smoky amber awakening taste buds, tripping across my tongue, warming my throat and my belly. Laughter and blether flowed freely as the peaty tones of the drink pulled me back to a time and a place in my life that I’ve always viewed with a kind of distant nostalgia.

And now… now I can connect with these memories and see them for what they are. Part of a rich tapestry that is this thing called life. My life.

I gather all the loose ends unto myself and attempt to express the whole.