Your love remains

There’s a song I liked to play back in the olden days of January when I would pull out my guitar. The chorus goes, “Though the seasons change, your love remains. Your love remains.” The week ahead is clear. The month of May is, too. In fact, I notice, my 2020 calendar, “straight on till morning,” as Peter Pan says, is almost completely blank. This realization—that everything I had planned is either canceled or on very tenuous hold—gives me the shivers. It also gives me a window, a door, a garden gate, an outdoor space for art, a book to write and music to play. One of my daughters-in-law texted me a clip last night. She was sitting in their living room, quiet with no lights on, but the evening light showed through windows behind her. She smiled gently and hesitantly placed her fingers on keys, chords slowly creating a tune she had figured out on the piano they just bought (notes of hope in this uncertain waiting time). With no speech at all she played it for me. Gradually I realized it was not her own tune but a very old one from my childhood, recalling mysterious stained-glass stories and tall white candles lit by an always nervous choirboy and hard pews before they discovered cushions, and I sang along last night as best I could remember: “Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above. Praise the mount, I’m fixed upon it, la la la la la la love.”
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