If I could write you a love story, I would write of far away woods tucked into mountain folds and of twisting roads under autumn leaves. Brooks that babble down rocky ravines. And somewhere above the valley floor, a little cabin that is ours.
I would wash away the worries and the grime, the cares and the passions that divide. There would be passion enough in sherbet-colored sunsets rippling across the skies– in the calm of a frosty morning. Deer pricking their ears up as we watch them munch pumpkins in our hedgerow.
I would write of dirt roads and soccer pitches, back woods and mountain trails, where we teach our children awe of the world and God’s beauty. Where they can be kids– imagination running wild and free, their laughter infusing the summer nights’ firefly glow.
If I could write you a love story, it wouldn’t be happily ever after. It would be happily here and now.