Longing

I have felt the gentle tug on my heart and soul for so long now that it is a part of me. It could best be described as a elusive whisper that dances just beyond the boundaries of what is firm and familiar. Words need not be spoken for the language to be understood.
Many things are certain. My eyes are blue. My heart has been broken because I have loved.  I also know that this restless searching thread that runs through me vehemently insists I do not belong here.
The routines are familiar and most are done without a conscious effort. I do what must be done and little more. With only the rare exception the faces blur together forming a mosaic of indistinct lines and diluted colors.
I feel part of me yearning for something "more". I hear the sound of a horse’s hooves striking cobblestones and deep inside a part of me stops breathing so nothing detracts from that glorious echo. To my knowledge I have never been around horses but this rhythm is familiar and achingly dear to me.
I long for a time when courtesy and respect was the norm and not a source of scorn and ridicule. There was a time, and it seems so long ago, when silver and gray denoted hard won wisdom and were not considered a weakness or something to be hidden. Childhood was innocent and filled with wonder.
Long ago, a gentleman held doors and watched his language when he was in the company of a lady. He tipped his hat as a matter of course. Ladies were regarded as delicate, to be treasured and protected. There was grace and charm in simple every day activities.
The dress was structured and somewhat formal. There were hats and gloves and lace up boots. Effort was taken to appear clean and presentable in public. Certain behavior was not acceptable in public, not so much out of a sense of formality but as a sign of respect for others.
I long for an afternoon of conversation over cups of tea or tall glasses of lemonade without the jarring intrusion of cell phones. Time seems to pass a bit more slowly when the windows are open, an afternoon breeze teasing the curtains so that they float up and back down again in a lazy dance. The murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter drift out the window as the soft breeze retreats gently tugging the curtains as if begging them to follow.
Today the pull is stronger than ever. The distinct "clip-clop" of the horse’s hooves reverberates through me. The world is moving so fast now. I know that I cannot stop it but I do wish that I could slow it down if only for a short time.