the window

'This way, up these stairs, without delay, take my hand'.
Her hand was in his in a heartbeat, and they were running in step, footfall echoing on marble.
'In here', he said, looking back at her, noticing the frown. 'It's ok', he assured.
She smiled shyly, not quite making eye contact.
'This is the window I was telling you about. The portal of Spring'. He looked at his watch.
'We're in time'. He stood behind her then, and nudged her towards the floor-to-ceiling window. 'This is your place in the Sun', he proclaimed, in an unexpected sonorous tone, startling her a bit. She shivered.
It was 12:57. The sun crossed the vernal equinox heading northward, and at that precise moment sunlight swept into the room like a spotlight. He heard a sharp intake of breath from the girl. "The heart of the Sun bowed to her where she stood," is what he scribbled with swift hand into his sketchbook later that evening, by candlelight at his roll-top desk.
'And now - one additional minute in the morning, and one precious extra minute at night. Just for us, don't you see?'
She was silent, her eyes closed, chin up towards the glorious rays of fire.
'And those dreadful five o'clock sunsets are long gone', he said, wrapping his arms around her, pushing hair away with his face, a kiss on the back of her neck.
She held up five fingers. 'Long gone,' she whispered.

photo by Kelsey Hannah