Solar Return II

As we drive up the side of the hill and into the parking space I see several cabins. Ours is aptly named the "Treehouse". It's quaint and well appointed. A wood buring fireplace, exposed redwood beams and a soaking tub greet the two of us. Mark opens the shades on the glass French doors that open to a wooden deck and I gasp.

The view is breathtaking.

Between the sequoia sentinels that flank our cabin, the yawning pacific is in clear view. Gulls wing aloft on an evening zephyr. Again, the urge to break down into a weepy silly mess is strong but I manage to hold it together. The embrace I give Mark comes from the deepest part of my being. In one grand unselfish loving act Mark has done what no other man has been able to;

He's healed my heart.

A sense of absolute peace steals over me. In the scant time we've been together, Mark has shown me capital "L" Love more times than I can count. Mark had become home to me. My shield against the strife that exists in everyday living.

Mark had made reservations for dinner that evening. St. Orres serves world class cuisine, and I must say it was one of the finest meals I've ever had. From the cold pineapple soup, to the perfectly cooked fillet, my palete enjoyed a variety of wonderful flavors that evening. All the while those twinking blue eyes of Mark's gaze across the table at me. Deep soulful eyes filled with love.

Love for me.

The next morning, Breakfast arrives on our cabin porch in a critter proof box that is a marvel. Contained within is more of St Orres fantastic food. Quiche, organic fruit, granola, milk, oj. Nourishment as much for the soul as the body.

We spend the next couple of days beach combing. We drive up to Point Arena where I collect pieces of abalone, while he gathers bits of colored glass. Both of us facinated by the action of nature on one of mankind's most mundane objects. Flecks of green, brown and blue sanded and polished into little silicone gems.

We drive home along Highway 1. Both of us grateful for different things. Mark happy that the weather forecast turned out wrong. We were blessed with amazing weather for the entire weekend. No rain or fog meant the Mendocino and Sonoma coast were bathed in sunlight. Spring grass and orange poppies greeted us along the meandering coast highway.

My gratitute existing on several levels. As shallow as the bliss afforded by Mark knowing who Dokken is. Or being able to sing the words of "Winds of Change" (The Scorpions for the uninitiated). To the deep well spring of appreciation that here at last is a man who "gets" me. Here is someone who knows me as well as I know myself.

A man who sees my light and loves my dark.

The weekend ends with a trip through Bodega Bay, and a stop at the Freestone Bakery. We walk to the General Store and grab something to drink. Mark and I share a comfort and ease with each other that had always been sensed but never explored.

It's in the comfortable silences that I find revelation.

I no longer have to wish on birthday candles. Never again will I have to tie knots into hankerchiefs when I see a shooting star. Gone are reading tea leaves, tarot cards and horoscopes. I don't have to hope for the future.

My future is now. My future is Mark. That is the best birthday present of all.

And all I want to do is weep.

For joy.