Post by goldenmyst on Dec 7, 2020 22:52:35 GMT -6
Nesting Ground for Tundra Swans
Rowena stands in deep contemplation in the greenhouse of Biosphere 2. She sees her golden face afloat in a pool of orange late afternoon light slanting through the crystalline glass. She gazes wistfully at her image reflected in the glass. Waves of her long raven black hair circle her face where her cherubic ruby lips are generous and full. Her lash-hooded dark opal eyes glitter in the reddish sparkles of sunset glaze suspended in the glass. Her elfin face glows in an ethereal aura. Her image, suffused in the luminous orange pool, appears like that of a nymph from some enchanted faerie land. She feels the magic of wonder as she gazes at her image suspended in timeless beauty.
The aroma of the spice garden dazzles her sense of smell. The rich scents of paprika and oregano stimulate her olfactory and evoke memories of New Orleans. These smells are tied in with memories of sitting around the table in New Orleans tasting the savory dishes mother cooked. This world of Creole foods and spices is so familiar to her. It feels as though she has spent many lifetimes there and know the smells, colors, and feel of the food intimately like a woman knows her lover’s body.
She looks through the glass out at the tundra grassland of the ecosphere she has come to call home. The ice of Hudson Bay has melted into a pellucid gulf under the Arctic sun whose dying embers are mirrored in sunset hues of deep burgundy.
Rowena feels happy to be in the great north. Her husband, long ago, could have whisked her back to the unbearable swelter of New Orleans. She dreads the prospect of living in a place where the climate police make life indoors compulsory.
Often she leaves this habitat to walk, the stone paths across the thawing permafrost. Every time she gazes across the hills at the morning mists she feels deep peace.
This evening it is near bedtime. She stays at the window a little longer, enjoying the scene through the window, and feels very comfortable in the hydroponic gardens she has come to call home.
She has a husband who loves her more than life itself. Her husband, John, is also from New Orleans where they were born and lived until she was twenty years old. Her mother came from Mississippi and her father from Boston. Though she was a southerner her New Englander roots left her in a kind of cultural no man’s land.
Then she met John, a member of a vegetarian commune that sold food to the community. With him, she felt like she belonged. He accepted her with unconditional love. His collectivist co-op took her in as one of their own. Then the cataclysm came and the exodus to the north.
He lavishes her with affection. She remembered sitting with him on the dirt in the garden. It was sunset and the stars were just peeking through the diaphanous blue veil of sky through the glass. The rich aroma of plant scents filled the air as she lay on her side in the plot of soil ready for planting. She gazed at John. The sunset light illuminated his soft face giving it a gentle glow.
She could see in his eyes that she was all he ever wanted or needed and that he would be by her side when her face grew wrinkled and her memory hazy. Even though her womb was barren and their marriage childless he was devoted to her.
The light from the window was almost gone and the stars emerged like tiny islands of light in the velvet black sky. She could only see John in the shadows now. He looked like a ghost as the overhead lights grew dim. His features looked so calm and peaceful and she traced his face with her fingertips. She could feel the lines in the soft skin of his face. He leaned close and played kissy-face with her. Her laughter was uncontrollable as they headed back to their quarters. Their neighbors smiled as they passed because the walls there are thin. There, in the naked light of heaven, we built the only kind of campfire allowed in these sealed environments.
But in recent years Rowena has become restless. Though she still loves this community her dreams take her further on the path to freedom. Like their ancestors who migrated from Olduvai Gorge, she longs to wander and find the remnants of humanity that lie in the distance.
John stands beside her, looking sad. She asks him what is wrong. He says, “Sometimes you seem so far away.”
She sees a tear trickle down his cheeks. She says, “Don’t be sad because even when I sink into myself I always return. Don’t worry love because I’ll never drift beyond your reach.”
Her mind drifts back to the present. Here in the herbarium, she gazes up at the night sky. Lost in memories, she hears the door creak open. A red-headed young woman in sandals and jeans walks in. She prances up to Rowena and Ro’s mouth opens as if she is about to speak, but not a sound comes out. The woman smiles and says, “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
She looks in her early twenties. Ro is not that old at 34 but feels self-conscious about her age in the presence of this young beautiful woman. She looks exotic and out of place so far from the tropics. She looks like a hippie with holes in her jeans and wearing a red t-shirt. The woman smiles and says, “Hey, I can come back if you’d like your privacy.”
Ro reply, “Not at all. I haven’t seen a hippie since I left New Orleans.”
The woman smiles and says, “Well you’re a friendly sort.” She holds out her hand assertively and says, “My name is Sarah. What’s yours?”
Ro takes her hand timidly and says, “Rowena...”
Sarah steps back and Ro sees her toes are painted light pink. Sarah notices Ro gazing at her feet and says, “Do you think that’s a good color for my toenail polish? I thought about maybe using a darker pink.”
Ro says, “I like that color.”
She giggles and looks down at her feet. She says, “Hey, life should be interesting don’t you think? I have a proposal for you if you are bold. No not that kind of proposal. Meet me tomorrow morning then, bright and early, and I’ll lay out the prospects for you.” Sarah turns to leave but looks sidelong at Rowena and smirks. She departs through the door and Ro stands in the doorway watching her form recede into the distance. She turns a corner and vanishes. Ro feels my heart flutter with excitement and heads home to John.
Rowena enters their family quarters. John stands in the foyer watching her. He smiles with the same smile that had endeared her to him long ago in New Orleans. She approaches John and he says, “I’m so glad to see you. I have some important news.”
She feels her heart tremble with anticipation. Her fears are confirmed when John tells her what she dreads to hear. He says, “Kevlar pods are the new thing. In fact, the homes are hurricane proof and along with the solar thermal air conditioning that is booming we can go home to New Orleans.”
She hugs him and presses her body against his. She says, “But John this is home.”
He looks down at her sullenly with downcast eyes as his hands press into her hips with familiar warmth. She says, “I know John. This is your dream.”
A hesitant smile returns to his face. “If it is not your dream I understand. I will stay here if you need to. You are my life. I want you to be happy.”
She presses her silky hair into the nape of his neck. She says, “John, my John.”
The next morning she awakens next to John and gets up quietly careful not to wake him. She steps into the shower and feels the hot beads of water pulse into her skin and course through her crevices.
She puts on her best silk kimono and leaves John sleeping. She walks down the corridor to the greenhouse. Outside the windows, feathery cirrus clouds with silvery edges hover in the cobalt sky. The Arctic winter shows no mercy and hypothermia comes quickly when earth puts on her snowy cloak for a less motherly embrace. Rowena feels the vulnerability of her life like a dove that is so fragile. The prospect of encountering Sarah invigorates me.
Rowena comes to the tiny blue room with luxuriant ferns hanging from the walls. She opens the door and Sarah stands before her with a smile warm as sunlight on the morning of creation. She wears a white dress, which clings to her.
They are silent for a moment. Sarah speaks softly, “Rowena, are you married?”
“Yes. I am married to a man who loves me dearly.”
Sarah says, “Well do you love him?”
Ro whispers, “Yes.”
Sarah says, “Well the thing is family can’t come along with our group, it complicates things too much. Do you have children?”
Ro looks down at her feet. She says, “No children. My womb is a barren desert.”
Sarah sits up and says, “I can see how much you love your husband. The look in your eyes is telling.”
Sarah looks serious. She asks, “Does he know you’re here?”
Ro says, “No.”
She says, “We’re starting a colony in the Brooks Range. You’d be welcome there. You’d really blossom among us. Don’t let your fears rule your life. Join us. You belong where the land meets the sky.”
Ro begs, “Take me to America.”
Sarah says, “They found an atomic bomb on a ship berthed in New York. It isn’t safe there anymore. The south is overpopulated and poisoned with toxic waste. Trust me, little darling. You’re better off here.”
Ro pleads, “I want to be free.”
Sarah answers me, “My woman’s intuition tells me you aren’t ready. It was really great. I hope we meet again.”
Ro implores her, “So this is it? We just say goodbye?”
She replies, “I’m not rushing you off. Would you like some coffee? We can go back to my room. I can brew some for you.”
Suddenly John enters the herbarium. Sarah tells him, “I was just on my way out. Enjoy the morning you two.”
John sits in the lawn chair and Rowena sits in his warm lap. Ro says, “Your kiss is sweeter than chocolate. If you stay up north you can have all you want.”
John winks at her. He says, “You don’t give up easily. I love that in a woman.”
Ro looks up into his eyes. She says, “I have been holding out. I can cook the best vegetarian lasagna you’ve ever tasted.”
He looks down at her with misty eyes. He says, “I’m glad you are an old-fashioned girl and we got hitched.”
She nestles her head against his warm crux. She says, “I was tickled pink when you proposed. Ours sure was a whirlwind romance.”
John shifts his legs. He says, “Reading isn’t nearly as fun stuck inside all day because of the potential for heatstroke like in New Orleans. When our globally warmed summer comes by the bay I’ve got a novel just perfect for beach weather.”
John and Ro sit next to each other on the couch. He turns on the music and a Chopin nocturne melodiously tumbles forth in tones of sensuous sound. Rowena presses her body full against his, gently lays him on the garden dirt, and holds him as they sink into the soil.
Chopin resonates lyrically through them, as their bodies begin the slow sensual dance. He follows her movements and then she follows his in counterpoint. Together they create poetry in motion in a language of intimacy, each sigh accents a touch, every moan is a beat of a meter in their composition.
Each undulation of her body pulls him further into her warm sea. Deep shudders rock her corporeal form. Her body quakes in spasms of delight. He rests his head in the valley of her lap. Rowena knows she has to stay with John. She is just beginning to understand this strange riddle which is her heart. Golden dreams of love roll like a river so mighty that even death cannot stop its flow.
Rowena stands in deep contemplation in the greenhouse of Biosphere 2. She sees her golden face afloat in a pool of orange late afternoon light slanting through the crystalline glass. She gazes wistfully at her image reflected in the glass. Waves of her long raven black hair circle her face where her cherubic ruby lips are generous and full. Her lash-hooded dark opal eyes glitter in the reddish sparkles of sunset glaze suspended in the glass. Her elfin face glows in an ethereal aura. Her image, suffused in the luminous orange pool, appears like that of a nymph from some enchanted faerie land. She feels the magic of wonder as she gazes at her image suspended in timeless beauty.
The aroma of the spice garden dazzles her sense of smell. The rich scents of paprika and oregano stimulate her olfactory and evoke memories of New Orleans. These smells are tied in with memories of sitting around the table in New Orleans tasting the savory dishes mother cooked. This world of Creole foods and spices is so familiar to her. It feels as though she has spent many lifetimes there and know the smells, colors, and feel of the food intimately like a woman knows her lover’s body.
She looks through the glass out at the tundra grassland of the ecosphere she has come to call home. The ice of Hudson Bay has melted into a pellucid gulf under the Arctic sun whose dying embers are mirrored in sunset hues of deep burgundy.
Rowena feels happy to be in the great north. Her husband, long ago, could have whisked her back to the unbearable swelter of New Orleans. She dreads the prospect of living in a place where the climate police make life indoors compulsory.
Often she leaves this habitat to walk, the stone paths across the thawing permafrost. Every time she gazes across the hills at the morning mists she feels deep peace.
This evening it is near bedtime. She stays at the window a little longer, enjoying the scene through the window, and feels very comfortable in the hydroponic gardens she has come to call home.
She has a husband who loves her more than life itself. Her husband, John, is also from New Orleans where they were born and lived until she was twenty years old. Her mother came from Mississippi and her father from Boston. Though she was a southerner her New Englander roots left her in a kind of cultural no man’s land.
Then she met John, a member of a vegetarian commune that sold food to the community. With him, she felt like she belonged. He accepted her with unconditional love. His collectivist co-op took her in as one of their own. Then the cataclysm came and the exodus to the north.
He lavishes her with affection. She remembered sitting with him on the dirt in the garden. It was sunset and the stars were just peeking through the diaphanous blue veil of sky through the glass. The rich aroma of plant scents filled the air as she lay on her side in the plot of soil ready for planting. She gazed at John. The sunset light illuminated his soft face giving it a gentle glow.
She could see in his eyes that she was all he ever wanted or needed and that he would be by her side when her face grew wrinkled and her memory hazy. Even though her womb was barren and their marriage childless he was devoted to her.
The light from the window was almost gone and the stars emerged like tiny islands of light in the velvet black sky. She could only see John in the shadows now. He looked like a ghost as the overhead lights grew dim. His features looked so calm and peaceful and she traced his face with her fingertips. She could feel the lines in the soft skin of his face. He leaned close and played kissy-face with her. Her laughter was uncontrollable as they headed back to their quarters. Their neighbors smiled as they passed because the walls there are thin. There, in the naked light of heaven, we built the only kind of campfire allowed in these sealed environments.
But in recent years Rowena has become restless. Though she still loves this community her dreams take her further on the path to freedom. Like their ancestors who migrated from Olduvai Gorge, she longs to wander and find the remnants of humanity that lie in the distance.
John stands beside her, looking sad. She asks him what is wrong. He says, “Sometimes you seem so far away.”
She sees a tear trickle down his cheeks. She says, “Don’t be sad because even when I sink into myself I always return. Don’t worry love because I’ll never drift beyond your reach.”
Her mind drifts back to the present. Here in the herbarium, she gazes up at the night sky. Lost in memories, she hears the door creak open. A red-headed young woman in sandals and jeans walks in. She prances up to Rowena and Ro’s mouth opens as if she is about to speak, but not a sound comes out. The woman smiles and says, “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
She looks in her early twenties. Ro is not that old at 34 but feels self-conscious about her age in the presence of this young beautiful woman. She looks exotic and out of place so far from the tropics. She looks like a hippie with holes in her jeans and wearing a red t-shirt. The woman smiles and says, “Hey, I can come back if you’d like your privacy.”
Ro reply, “Not at all. I haven’t seen a hippie since I left New Orleans.”
The woman smiles and says, “Well you’re a friendly sort.” She holds out her hand assertively and says, “My name is Sarah. What’s yours?”
Ro takes her hand timidly and says, “Rowena...”
Sarah steps back and Ro sees her toes are painted light pink. Sarah notices Ro gazing at her feet and says, “Do you think that’s a good color for my toenail polish? I thought about maybe using a darker pink.”
Ro says, “I like that color.”
She giggles and looks down at her feet. She says, “Hey, life should be interesting don’t you think? I have a proposal for you if you are bold. No not that kind of proposal. Meet me tomorrow morning then, bright and early, and I’ll lay out the prospects for you.” Sarah turns to leave but looks sidelong at Rowena and smirks. She departs through the door and Ro stands in the doorway watching her form recede into the distance. She turns a corner and vanishes. Ro feels my heart flutter with excitement and heads home to John.
Rowena enters their family quarters. John stands in the foyer watching her. He smiles with the same smile that had endeared her to him long ago in New Orleans. She approaches John and he says, “I’m so glad to see you. I have some important news.”
She feels her heart tremble with anticipation. Her fears are confirmed when John tells her what she dreads to hear. He says, “Kevlar pods are the new thing. In fact, the homes are hurricane proof and along with the solar thermal air conditioning that is booming we can go home to New Orleans.”
She hugs him and presses her body against his. She says, “But John this is home.”
He looks down at her sullenly with downcast eyes as his hands press into her hips with familiar warmth. She says, “I know John. This is your dream.”
A hesitant smile returns to his face. “If it is not your dream I understand. I will stay here if you need to. You are my life. I want you to be happy.”
She presses her silky hair into the nape of his neck. She says, “John, my John.”
The next morning she awakens next to John and gets up quietly careful not to wake him. She steps into the shower and feels the hot beads of water pulse into her skin and course through her crevices.
She puts on her best silk kimono and leaves John sleeping. She walks down the corridor to the greenhouse. Outside the windows, feathery cirrus clouds with silvery edges hover in the cobalt sky. The Arctic winter shows no mercy and hypothermia comes quickly when earth puts on her snowy cloak for a less motherly embrace. Rowena feels the vulnerability of her life like a dove that is so fragile. The prospect of encountering Sarah invigorates me.
Rowena comes to the tiny blue room with luxuriant ferns hanging from the walls. She opens the door and Sarah stands before her with a smile warm as sunlight on the morning of creation. She wears a white dress, which clings to her.
They are silent for a moment. Sarah speaks softly, “Rowena, are you married?”
“Yes. I am married to a man who loves me dearly.”
Sarah says, “Well do you love him?”
Ro whispers, “Yes.”
Sarah says, “Well the thing is family can’t come along with our group, it complicates things too much. Do you have children?”
Ro looks down at her feet. She says, “No children. My womb is a barren desert.”
Sarah sits up and says, “I can see how much you love your husband. The look in your eyes is telling.”
Sarah looks serious. She asks, “Does he know you’re here?”
Ro says, “No.”
She says, “We’re starting a colony in the Brooks Range. You’d be welcome there. You’d really blossom among us. Don’t let your fears rule your life. Join us. You belong where the land meets the sky.”
Ro begs, “Take me to America.”
Sarah says, “They found an atomic bomb on a ship berthed in New York. It isn’t safe there anymore. The south is overpopulated and poisoned with toxic waste. Trust me, little darling. You’re better off here.”
Ro pleads, “I want to be free.”
Sarah answers me, “My woman’s intuition tells me you aren’t ready. It was really great. I hope we meet again.”
Ro implores her, “So this is it? We just say goodbye?”
She replies, “I’m not rushing you off. Would you like some coffee? We can go back to my room. I can brew some for you.”
Suddenly John enters the herbarium. Sarah tells him, “I was just on my way out. Enjoy the morning you two.”
John sits in the lawn chair and Rowena sits in his warm lap. Ro says, “Your kiss is sweeter than chocolate. If you stay up north you can have all you want.”
John winks at her. He says, “You don’t give up easily. I love that in a woman.”
Ro looks up into his eyes. She says, “I have been holding out. I can cook the best vegetarian lasagna you’ve ever tasted.”
He looks down at her with misty eyes. He says, “I’m glad you are an old-fashioned girl and we got hitched.”
She nestles her head against his warm crux. She says, “I was tickled pink when you proposed. Ours sure was a whirlwind romance.”
John shifts his legs. He says, “Reading isn’t nearly as fun stuck inside all day because of the potential for heatstroke like in New Orleans. When our globally warmed summer comes by the bay I’ve got a novel just perfect for beach weather.”
John and Ro sit next to each other on the couch. He turns on the music and a Chopin nocturne melodiously tumbles forth in tones of sensuous sound. Rowena presses her body full against his, gently lays him on the garden dirt, and holds him as they sink into the soil.
Chopin resonates lyrically through them, as their bodies begin the slow sensual dance. He follows her movements and then she follows his in counterpoint. Together they create poetry in motion in a language of intimacy, each sigh accents a touch, every moan is a beat of a meter in their composition.
Each undulation of her body pulls him further into her warm sea. Deep shudders rock her corporeal form. Her body quakes in spasms of delight. He rests his head in the valley of her lap. Rowena knows she has to stay with John. She is just beginning to understand this strange riddle which is her heart. Golden dreams of love roll like a river so mighty that even death cannot stop its flow.
