swirl

	On a hill reaching up towards the sky, trees weave around all the stones and hollows, stretching outwards, circling and standing against the clouds. We sit on the edge, look over it all, feel every sound ripple through the quiet and stretch past the rocks like pines piercing the dusk. Him and I have spiraled around each other, same as the clouds and colors swirl down and circle in the sky. Weeks of worry, nervous glances, and unseen smiles form streaks in the air, spinning down to this meadow, this moment.

	"How do we know what to feel?" he asked, and from the corners of my eyes the world grew smaller.

	He might be trying to dismiss us, to dismiss his own feelings, and still beneath those words is a question yearning for an answer. The sky might be a matte ceiling, rushing clouds, pure and deep blue, or a serendipitous colored swirl for all I mind it, but in our uncertainty there is the stirring confidence of two hearts that cannot be stopped, a world waiting to be born.

	"I can't say how we should be," I blink, and, shaking, he looks closer at my hands. "But that might be perfect." I don't shrink away. "We haven't been given what we need," I say, turning closer, shivering, whispering, "so we need to make it." Between the trees, the unfolding hills and lights far in the evening, at peace on the rocks with the sun sweeping down and darkening through the branches, we come closer together.

	"What if it falls apart," he breathes, "even though we try? What can we do?" My hands and his rest apart on the ground beside us, and his eyes pace back and forth between them, and I can feel his heartbeat through the air between us, feel his honesty in our silent quivering.
	
	A bright birdcall shoots from the treetops, a high twittering, dissipating and echoing into the sunset. It hits me, washes over, and in that moment everything all comes in unison. The world is swirling colors with every detail made out beautifully, the blue deepening as the sky turns upwards, the rhythmic dance of branches all bent and towering. Everything melds together, swathes of color and life, moving and flowing. A butterfly lands on a flower and I know every detail of its wings, feel the shapes and the colors in their mosaic. Next to me, I know he sees as I do, feels the movement of all that we are.

	With the world billowing around us, we come back to each other's eyes, seeing the sun in them, seeing the life in us and the sky, the cool ground and the swaying leaves, the brilliance all swirling together. His hands comb through the grass, shakily caressing the clovers, tracing every blade and every petal. I don't know my own hands, don't feel them; all I know is the shine of his eyes, all I feel is the hope of his face. We sit up, lean inwards, feel the warmth, and the breath, and the pull.

	He takes my hands, cradles them, and that gives more of an answer than anything I could say.