As love affairs go, ours has lasted decades. I know the every curve of her body, the every rise and fall of her earthen flesh. I have spent many a year meeting her daily, sometimes many times a day, and I know her whims and wiles, her ways and wants. I can walk her open woods in the darkest hours, even blindfolded, for she has guided me so often that she now is as familiar to me as my own self.
She cares not about those who came before, those who might kiss these lips or hold this hand, those who might compete with her for my affections. For I am as much hers as she is mine.
I know her torrid summer, the heat of her desire, the sweat she brings upon my brow and back. I know her simmering. I love the feel of her resting against me with the closeness of warm wet cotton, smothering me, holding me to her. Even when I want for the coolness of escape, I cannot leave her embrace.
I know the shimmer of her autumn gown, the slow undressing that elicits craven appetites to see her bare limbs. I know the falling of her leaves that lick at me in the gentlest breeze. I trace myself upon her to find the dappled sunlight that warms me in her newfound chill.
I know her even when she wears her winter white, her stark nakedness in the cold. I know the long shadows that rest upon her and draw out her intricacies, the patterns both subtle and showy. I know the sun hangs low on the horizon not to hide her but to accentuate her. The haunting loneliness of empty spaces, the bones of the world revealed, the hollow song of wind moving freely about her, the shortness of days… None of these diminish her but instead amplify her, reveal her.
I know the slow unfurling of her verdant spring, the deliberate unveiling of every glistening leaf, every blossom, every blade of grass. I know the patterns of her limbs as they dance in vernal storms. I watch her with a mix of awe and jealousy as she welcomes abundance to her bosom with open arms, yet I know she is for me just as I am for her.
And though I have missed her these past months, I know she waits for me still. She remains. She is the patient and unmoving paramour. She rests always there, right outside, always willing to guide me through her world with the gentle touch she gives freely.
For as love affairs go, ours has lasted decades.