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Or Wednesday
Learning how to love is a lifetime’s journey
I learned to love from the many ways I’ve seen, heard, received, and given it, sometimes accompanied by frowns, mutterings, despairs, and cries.
If love were tangible, it would be marble, tough but prone to cracks.
Instead, throughout life, I learned about love on the peaks of paragraphs, hidden in sentences, chalked on paving, drawn in the sand. Poets write about it, lyrics are sung, melodies are made, and all express reasons to believe.
There are no instructions on how to love, only those we make for ourselves. Love comes and goes, is found on Monday, lost on Sunday, grieved over, and celebrated.
It is a private language of hope.
Love will have fun with you while waiting for spring, hiding behind hills lush as pillows, calling. There is no reward in not caring, and what effort does it take to believe, to feel the mystery? We take the time to see the intricacy of a spider’s web, just there in the corner, so take the time to ease into the day, hear the sparrows tweeting their ravings before the morning is lost, and butterflies on the afternoon. Search for love on faraway shores or in a grocery store. I’m an old man now. Left behind are so many places I wanted to see, so many experiences I should have felt, and so many…
