Fire & Ice

I want to remember… Whenever change sweeps through like a gust through piles of fallen leaves, when love ripens into loss, I fear forgetting. In the same heartbeat – as I turn to walk away – I wonder if I’ve sentenced myself to the terminal ache of missing. It’s not that I won’t claim my spring; I enjoy that part. But at some point, all the seasons blend together, and one is never untouched by the others. It brings new meaning to the liquid ambar leaves scattered about the base of my installation, which opened in the bright green of spring.

He was the kind of lover who could carry my heart of winter straight into the heat of summer without batting an eye. And I gazed, wide-eyed, as he covered me with his beautiful body like a blanket to cut my chill. (”So long to this cold, cold part of the world.”) And sometimes I would let myself melt into him like wavelets on the horizon, lingering in his syrupy sky, a subtle pulse of summer’s fury. Other times, I felt so clearly the boundary of my cool skin, the calm winter of my mind, silent, admiring the deep stretch of his red heart. We would dance like fire and ice, each to his own, each enjoying the solidarity of his season (yes, at times I was as a man with him). I relished in white for 40 days and 40 nights. And perhaps for a fortnight or two, I would invite him to hibernate in the snowy depths. I felt so at home there, he spread beside me like a summer feast among sleeping bears. And I think he enjoyed the freedom of being unconsumed.


Icarus’ envy, he could spread his wings and fly toward the sun without melting. I grew to love his ride on my cool breeze. I wanted to take him to the ocean, where the sun sets on the water, where 70 degree days marry summer and winter, where we tousle in rolling waves, and for a moment, let the rest fall away: just laugh, hold hands, shed the seasons for a salty glow all our own. But we got caught in the undertow before we ever reached the coast. Blazing woods took us on a detour and then sleet froze the road before we made it over the pass. I suppose we were meant to simply hold each other’s season for a time and admire with separate skin. I’ll dream of those hot winter nights for many autumn moons.