The Power Of A Kiss
Being kissed all day, isn’t that everyone’s dream? When we first arrived back in France we were dazed and exhausted, and I was quite revoltingly ill from something I’d eaten during the 21 hour voyage from one home to another. I languished in bed our entire first day here, forcing Shel to revive his French at a much-faster-than-anticipated rate. But yesterday I was able to emerge into the world and take stock of our old-new life.
The cherry tree had been badly pruned and was bleeding sap, albeit beautifully. The sun shone warmly, and I was able to swim, although the water was startlingly cold. Refreshing and revivifying as that was, the real lifesaver was being kissed up one side and down the other. Folks we haven’t seen in almost two years greeted us with enthusiastic kisses everywhere we went, and were especially appreciative to see Shel looking well, since most of them had never expected to see him again at all.
So even though I still feel disoriented walking in the street, those bisous are anchoring me securely. Six sweet kisses at the green grocer’s, six at the butcher’s plus a hand kiss, fifteen or twenty from other friends, and that in just the same number of hours it took us to travel between worlds. Plus, I know that in just 22 minutes I’ll get another three. It makes me feel like Sleeping Beauty, and like I’m coming back to life.