All the time in the world

You teeter on the precipice with me and we both look down.

You are frightened; you fell from some similar high place not so long ago.

I take your hand; I lightly stroke your flushed cheek.

I wrap my arms around you and pull you, slowly and carefully, back from the edge of the cliff.

We have all the time in the world, you and I. So let’s get away from the danger and head back to firmer ground. After all, I want to share so many adventures with you. And I want us both to be safe and joyous and full of the power we share.

Then you get that glint in your eyes, and you take my hand in yours, and you pull me back to the edge. You show me the view; the jagged rocks, the rushing river. “We have to close our eyes and jump,” you say; and I cannot, will not be parted from you. I stand, and I see so much wild and dangerous beauty. I feel the yearning pulsing in you, in me.

But once again I draw your shining wildflower eyes away from all that potent wonder; I gaze deep into them; and oh so quietly I whisper, “We have all the time in the world.”

You relax then; breathe in the moist air. I lead you to a safe spot where we can rest oh … so … close … and we watch the sunset’s colors.