And then
the dear arms about his neck and the soft clinging fingers that
are intertwined with his own! And more wonderful still, the
perfect unison, the oneness, the sameness; no jar, no discordant
note; mind, soul, desire--a harmony.
The wise men say there are no parallels in nature; that no one
thing in the wide universe exactly mates and matches any other one
thing; that each cloud has differed from every other cloud-form in
every hour of the day and night, to-day, yesterday and so on back
through the forgotten centuries; that no two leaves in form,
color, or texture, lift the same faces to the sun on any of the
million trees; that no wave on any beach curves and falls as any
wave has curved and fallen before--not since the planet cooled.
And so it is with the drift of wandering winds; with the whirl and
crystals of driving snow, with the slant and splash of rain. And
so, too, with the flight of birds; the dash and tumble of restless
brooks; the roar of lawless thunder and the songs of birds.
The one exception is when we hold in our arms the woman we love,
and for the first time drink in her willing soul through her lips.
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