Meadowsweet

She grinned, reminded of a lyric, and suddenly burst into song.  John loved that about her; that uninhibited beauty, that fearless, vivacious joy.

She closed her eyes and swayed into the words a little, her simple summer frock a lush red berry against the meadow's golden backdrop.  Her smiles infected him, her warm, playful expressions dancing from word to word.  Every warbling note lifted him further out of time; further into the moment.  John breathed in every second, savoring the moment like he had every other since he met her.

She was skipping and laughing now, a drawn out twirl though the flowers and grasses reminding him of spiritual rythyms and the old Sufi poets.

Still he watched, both swept along and captivated.  For all his years of cold therapies and complex self-improvement nothing could heal him like she could.  She fought his battles and vanquished his demons in an instant.  She was purity and health personified.  And he loved her for it, with all his soul.

The End

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