Prodigal Son of a Promised Spring
Oh, give us pleasure in the orcahrd white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
For this is love and nothing else is love,
To which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends he will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.
Robert Frost
As I sit in an old motel cot and open my laptop for the first time in two moons, I feel a certain pang of guilt deep in my gut. My abandonment of the city seems to have become common place, and I have not failed to see the the shame in such a thing. However my guilt can only span so far and dig so deep. The orange blossoms have come in full bloom- and as we travelled to our beds, the city I have rested my head in is full with the scent of Spring.
The air is still crisp against our bare skin, ground cold under our toes, chills our flesh to bumps. But there is greenry to dull the frigid night now and to buffer the callus wind against out cheeks. The ground is still warmed from the waxing sun, rough but bareable under the backs of our legs and shoulders. Orange blossoms surround us in the twilight hour and we still feel the freedom- though my call home rings at the back of our minds.
I shall miss both of my homes, in turn. But my Liberty calls, and I am eager to answer.
(ooc: So yes! Basically an open call to Liberty with Matt telling everyone of his return! He'll be back soon... Just want to chat to the mods about some things. But I should be able to thread a little now! ;u; )