Steel and HoneyPosted: November 7, 2007
And there it was–yes–there it was. Not for those words I first read – not for those words alone (though those were as honey caught on steel)–and not merely for apparition, for I’d given to having it as granted from the depths.
I had already loved you by the morning–that first quiet morning after the storm had swept us to each other and we knew–and not for the words and banter alone, but we knew (and it was the honey of those words that made the brew in a steel cup we drank as we drank each other in.) And not for mere delightful appearance–and there it was–yes–there it was–ease as ease could be for who would test such a new thing? It had by then been tempered.
For this is the strange part–the first morning that we had loved was the first morning that we had fought. How strange love is. How strange. Strange that it can express fire and ice as both and yet be unchanged. It is the honey that sweetens the draught and poisons the infant–and it is this that created us. How strange love is that it can this way express; as sharp as cold steel and warmly glowing fresh from the forge.
I knew then that morning that this was true and tempered for it had been tested and cut before it was plunged again and re-wrought. And then the honey once more–we plunged the hot steel into it and it smelt–of strangeness and wonder that it could be like the aroma of fresh baking on stone that has not left us since.