Winds of Love
by Gay Williford

One blustery afternoon in our book-nook upstairs,
glancing at the full windsock on the roof
and hearing the thunder of a coming storm,
the memory of your surprise gift came to mind.
It was the year of our meeting in what became
our special place—the idyllic Quail Falls Park.

As we nuzzled there on a blanket under the pines,
trying to shelter from zestful breezes,
you presented me with a small blue leather box.
As though I had x-ray vision, I just knew its contents,
but was flabbergasted you returned my feelings
and readily blushed as I felt the longing and love in your eyes.

Suddenly, in an unexpected, strong gust,
the box tumbled from your hands
and lodged itself precariously in rocks along the falls.
Your successful lurch after it averted
what seemed a very inevitable catastrophe!
It was then, as I noted later in my diary,
with that beautiful, symbolic pearl ring in hand,
I gave you my heart—and my love,
my whole raison d'etre!


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