The Loving Unbroken Circle Madness

A cold front has moved in, crying grey outside with bare trees and a west wind.  I put on country music, the soundtrack of my remembering.  Our home is quiet; all the madness has abruptly ended as the last van disappears over the hill.  I can feel Betty’s warmth underneath my arm, up close, reassuring me of love and family and blood that came to be our crazy brood.   Will The Circle Be Unbroken comes on from the stage of The Mother Church and I feel my old, ancient roots moan under the years my broken body wears, the deaths, the births, the marriages, the mountains, and valleys.  My salvation being worked out these 61 very short years leaning more toward that great by and by and that better home awaitin in the sky.  My lover softly breaths deep in sleep, worn thin loving ours, caring for, learning to be the woman she is to all those that need her to be the women they need.  We are both tired, the passion of loving like Bensons do, aging us, laying on the years with stripes and embraces, the sorrow with the ecstasy, love, and pain from loving intensely.  It is quiet now, our Sabbath curtain being drawn, the Advent candles set to be lit and a page of our history has been turned.  The madness isn’t mad, only the tightening grip we each are taking to keep the circle safe as its lovers depart to each their home.  The circle must now encompass love across states, over the hills and through the woods to remain forever unbroken.