the day they cross the channel: a haiku (and a prose)

crossingThat day she speaks love

her hair caressing the wind

in place never been

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~He remembers that day. They cross the English channel together. They have flown many hours just to get there so they can cross the channel together. It is a sight of brilliant whiteness. The white waves. The white seagulls. The white clouds in the sky. He remembers her standing on the deck with her long hair blown all over her face. She is smiling at him. She is happy. He is happy too. They are very young. Very in love. They are newly married. Everybody knows. Not because they wear their rings of wedding vows on their fingers. Not because they are so young and fresh like new graduates from the collage of marital bliss. Not because they hang out together come what may. The look in their locked eyes betray their status. Remarks a fellow passenger. A seasoned married man with his wife. “How do you know we are married and not just living together?” He asks. The older couple laugh, “We know the difference.” They never tell how they know. Perhaps because the older man loves his wife too in the tender way a married couple do for each other. They have never crossed the same channel again. For that matter he cannot remember another boat ride except on lakes and rivers. Not the ocean. He misses the ocean. Because it’s wide and deep. It speaks of his love for her. He cannot remember the words she has spoken to him that day. Perhaps she has spoken with her eyes. Words without sound. Received and set deep in his heart like the vow he has hand-carved on her white-gold wedding ring. She likes white. On the day of the crossing she wears her white cotton dress with a light blue coat. This he remembers. White clouds with a backdrop of blue sky.  White waves  with a backdrop of blue ocean. How he misses that day of crossing.


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