We transitioned that December, you and I, into this place, the highrise downtown. There was much that happened in the ensuing weeks that changed us, much of it didn't involve paint and stain, rugs and moving vans, and I learned of what we were made, you and me, and the comfort of knowing we could make a home anywhere.
The years we were runners, I must ask him at dinner, does he remember? Early morning dashes across the Trinity Bridge before the sun had even come up over the skyline of Dallas. How Oz-like it appeared? Or those heated weekend mornings out at White Rock Lake when the temperature pre-dawn was 85 degrees and by 8 am too intense for anything but shade. Or the Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning, all that silliness and then gorging ourselves with friends?
The dappled sunlight falls across this Juliet balcony in the early morning hours of late spring. It is easy to see that the curtains are drawn and imagine those who dwell within sleeping soundly in the darkened room away from the rising heat of this corner of the world. I stop to admire the gentle curves of the window frame and roofline, the lacy pattern of the leaves against the white stucco and the shadows of the nearby trees. It is just before 9 am on a Saturday morning and the romance inspired by this drawn draped window has me wondering why I am not home with you.