A Pirate's Love

Sometimes it's just to hard to let go

She sat sideways for comfort, one foot tucked beneath her, watching as he tended their garden. He’d made this bench for her when time was kinder. Now only memories and love held it together. Running her fingers ran lightly over the back, she felt rose whorls coming to life again between its oak grooves.

The breeze whistled through the slats, and his hands tapped along to the rhythm. He had a musician’s fingers. No, a magician’s fingers, because he touched nothing. All he did was hover a caress over the direction he wished each plant to take. His persuasion was effective, for she could see blackthorn, coral necklace, and butterwort emerging to stake their claim among the lichen.

Somewhere a stonechat called, and he paused to listen. “He’s calling his lover home.” Then, turning to her, said, “Is it comfortable?”

“Indeed, it is. Thank you.”

He paused. Stood and unfurled. If alone, as they were now, he had an easy, almost arrogant gait. In company, he stooped slightly in an apologetic bow for his height. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare, he looked out over a choppy, invisible ocean, then turned to her with a pirate’s smile. He paid no attention to the wind ruffling his hair. “The sea calls me. But I’ll see you bedded tonight, Rosie Trenoden.”

“As will I you, Stefan Meriwyn. Now and forever.”

Her fingers moved over the name he had carved there. After 199 years, it was still deep and grooved, still filled with memories. Time shrugged and moved on.

Love shrugged back and remained.