She came into his presence almost magically, as though she had suddenly appeared from nowhere. Her eyes were gleaming, and she smiled to confirm her presence.
Surprised, he acted as though he had witnessed a miracle. Her arrival was a mystery. For hours he had wished to see her. He had fantasies of how she would materialize, but these dissolved in the premonition that she would not come.
She was curiously silent, but her smile leapt across at him, invaded him. She removed her coat and scarf. He turned from the computer.
“I’m surprised to see you.”
“I told you I would come.”
Outside, a winter storm was blustery and scolded the windows with cold, furious gusts. But inside, the moment seemed to glow with expectation.
Their conversation was an exploration, an unfolding discovery. He knew that her speaking created clarity. He had been trapped in the intellectual baggage that often cluttered his work. He found her smile engaging, and the sound of her voice was like music. He recalled Fellini's 8 1/2 where the woman in white looked at the intellectual debris that engulfed the director and murmured, "I am come to create order."
He had an intuition that he had known her before in another time and place... but the karma was the same as now.
She thought she recognized him, but could not be sure. He was older than she remembered. He spoke through silence, and seemed to be waiting to be acknowledged as though he expected her to linger there a while. But she was embarked on a journey. She was living her life, her destiny.
He remembered how they met. He saw her from a distance, but knew instantly who she was and where she was going. He longed to follow her, but was trapped by coordinates set long ago. Their paths were briefly crossing. He wanted to stop Time. He wished that somehow he could know her forever.
How could two people from two unique worlds, so clearly different, share the same space, even for a moment?
He turned back to the computer.
Startled by a blizzardly burst against the window, he looked for the beautiful muse who had created such order from all the clutter.
No one was there.
A dream, a wishful thought, vanishing in the winds of winter.