My worlds (imaginary and real) existed between the branches and leaves of the gnarled apple trees in your parent’s orchard.
You, my soul friend, were my partner. What glamorous, courageous beasts we were. Always riding the blackest, wildest horses, and every prince we wanted, would kneel to our glorious princess force.
In the real world reigned insecurity, loss, hidden grief, but with you I explored power, adventure and sensuousness; remember how we stroked each others arms, enjoying the tickling sensation, like puppies?
How I wish we could be forever young, in that summer light. With our secret language, and the envy of our older sisters. Although often jealously spying on us, they never did uncover our magic world. The dragons we searched out, the adventures we took, the summer buzzing around us unnoticed. But, I am sure, my soul absorbed forever the essence: bumble bees, all shades and nuances of green in that old apple yard. Time lost in joy.
Later on in the day, we’d go find the real horses and gallop about; find the kittens in the hay loft, where one had to know which parts of the floor were rotten. My feet knew.
I was fearless for moments at the time then. Sometimes I think I can feel what that was like.
Remember, many many years later at my wedding, how you told the adventure of our childhood world to all the guests and placed the crown on my head? My strong, shining friend. How I admired you, envied you your certainty, your easy entitlement to love and belonging. How I never knew why you would choose me.
Are the trees still swaying in that orchard? Maybe our souls, a part of them, are still dancing on the branches and riding the blackest stallions out into the mountains. So wherever you are now (in everyday school runs, office routines, midlife?) we are the world’s conquerors once again. When I’m a very old lady, I’ll still have a piece of me being quietly part of the tree; in the drop of water on a twig, or the glint of light stroking a leaf, we are, dear, forever young.