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Sweet Southern Comfort
A simple little country church. White painted wood with black shingles. In the middle of a field, on a slight rise. Surrounded by woods, at the end of a dirt drive.
The dress is white. A strapless sundress. Its length ends below my knee. The hem is outlined with a navy floral print. A long flowing ribbon of the same shade, tied around my torso to contrast the purity of the dress. My flip-flops are white, my toenails are blue.
My hair falls in soft tiny ringlets to my shoulders. My side swept bangs are pulled to the side, out of my face, with a ribbon the shade of the sky. The hot July sun shines upon my auburn hair, the light captivating every strand causing it to appear more red than brown.
The pearl earrings which caress my ears shine brightly. My necklace is a small silver chain that comes down on each side to two hearts, embracing the word “Noah”.
He smiles as he opens the truck door. My heart flutters at his chivalry. We walk into the church, hand in hand, heart in heart.
After the sermon we return to his home. A gorgeous Antebellum nestled into a valley surrounded by hills and forests. The epitome of southern grace. To witness it shall take your breath away.
I insist we drive back into the fields. He agrees. We drive for acres before parking the truck at the top of a hill. I swing open the door and fall clumsily out of his truck to the ground. I begin to run down the hill, stopping once I reach the pasture. I turn to beckon him to follow, but all I see is the blinding shine of his John Deere tag glistening in the sun. Just as I turn to run, his arms capture my waist from behind and swinging me in circles. As my feet touch the ground, I turn to face him. I kiss him as I break from his arms. Grabbing his hand, we run through the pasture, tumbling to the soft earth as we reach the creek bed.
I curl up against him, my head on his chest. His arms wrapped around me, one tangled in my hair, the other holding my waist, pulling me closer to him. We drift to sleep under the summer sun to the sound of the creek flowing. The clouds drift and hours pass before we awake. I open my eyes to see that broad daylight has turned to dusk.
“Noah,” I whisper, tickling him playfully. He opens on eye to glance at me sideways. “What?” He mumbles. I kiss cheek. “Let’s head back to the house.” We both stand. He sweeps me off my feet and carries me to the truck and we slowly drive back to the house.
Hours pass as we sway softly in the porch swing. Crickets chirp, water flows, cows moo in the pastures. His dog sleeps on the across the porch from us, yet in the quiet of the night we can hear her steady breathing.
I stand and walk to the window sill. I tune the radio to a country station, and as the sound of George Strait fills the air around us, Noah stands, takes my hand and begins to swirl me around the porch as if I were an angel and we were floating on air. When the song stops, I stand on my tip toes, wrap my arms around his neck and engage him in the sweet passion of a kiss that only those in the deepest of love could understand.
The sweet sound of music begins again. The smell of honeysuckle and hay fills the air. We dance in the moonlight, forgetting that the world even exists. In that one moment all that means anything is my hand in his, our bodies moving as one, and our hearts beating to the same romantic rhythm. I wish to be lost in this moment forever, for no love is stronger than the bond between soul mates. The kind of love that proves to be pure and innocent and perfect in an imperfect way. The true definition of Southern Comfort. And when you’re from the south, well that’s all that matters.