My WW II Girl Returns

The lonely drive to the chateau last night proved to be worth my last few dollars in petrol. I saw candles burning through the dark and hazy countryside. As I drew closer, I heard her voice. I now understand the term, "My heart did a leapfrog." I am sure I saw my chest pound against my ribs and push my jacket closer to the steering wheel. She was there. Although I was less than 100 feet from the door, I gunned the old motor anyway. The jeep protested against the abuse and screeched to a halt just as I reached my preferred parking spot.
I gathered myself and casually walked into my haunt. I had stashed all my anticipation and anxiety in my jacket pocket and planned to diffuse it within the first glass or two of liquid smoke. Nothing better than a good single-malt Highland Scotch to set the eye-sight straight and calm the racing heart. Glad the owner let me run a weekly tab, and happy that Uncle Sam paid me enough to keep this habit alive.
I turned to gaze upon her loveliness and realized that she seemed to glow more radiant each time I saw her. Her sways hypnotic. Her voice soothing and yet enchanting. Her eyes, oh her eyes. Most of her features were hidden in the gloom and shadows, but her eyes sparkled with the candlelight, or was it the love that burned within her that offered the twinkle? More scotch is needed to contemplate such a celestial enigma.
Glancing my way, she winks. Her smile tells me that we will dance soon. Paradise has been rediscovered.

© March 3, 2013 ~ DBC, Duke of the Arctic