Tangerine Dream Part IV: Poets and Personas

To say their relationship started in a whirlwind is an understatement. They had met many months prior on the windowsill of one Benton Silverwood, a man of many talents, many been theres and done thats. A phenomenon known to those who can’t help but frolic in the Spring. Those tangerine dreamers who can’t resist the sweet nectar spilling out over everywhere they go. It is inevitable. Poetry is written and dreams are made. Time seems to suspend and those poets find themselves fighting with their own personas.

Upon that windowsill, two bugs had landed and began to chirp about nothing and everything because both sensed their time was precious: one must say so much in so little a chirp. If the man who had spotted them outside of his window had swatted them or swept them away, this story could not have been written, and life would have continued on for Benton Silverwood and Ava Grayson…never to have met, never to have fallen in love, never to have said goodbye.

And most days, Benton would have not even noticed the two bugs on his windowsill mating, but this was not any day. This was the day before the night he had planned for weeks. Tonight was the night he was to escort his exotic dancer. Tonight, he would take her to the city and treat her like the lady of luck she had become to him. He would make her feel how the city lights showcase the depth of his love. So when he saw the two bugs mating, he could do nothing but smile. Throughout the day he had whistled and felt lighter in his step.

Stepping over wood spilled all over the back yard, Ava Grayson did what she always does when she sees something needs to be done. She picked up the pieces of wood one at a time because they were too heavy for her to lift except one at a time and began stacking the wood. Winter would be arriving soon. Winter meant staying warm. Winds up to 70-80 mph combined with temperatures below freezing with perhaps several inches of snow on the ground can make staying warm somewhat of a challenge. No wood. No warmth.

And how Ava Grayson missed warmth. The kind that engulfs one with its kindness and cleverness, with its essence… The sort of warmth an old cabin can produce with wood heat. How many times she had stacked wood, carried wood into the house, emptied out the ashes in order to start all over again. Always feeling alone and yet safe because she was alone. Just her and the stove and the wind and the snow. Had Benton Silverwood known what he was getting into- one part of him would have ran -and the other even faster to that cabin snuggled in the arms of the Appalachian Mountains.

Benton told his loving wife how he had gone through mountains of paperwork while she had been doing her life’s work as a humanitarian while both knowing that he had in fact spent his day grooming and preparing for his big date. A lifetime together had taught them most everything. Mrs. Silverwood loved her husband, loved her mission, and loved her privacy, too. Living in the apartment with Benton was fine and cozy, but could be a little claustrophobic. If her husband needed to escort a sexy, exotic dancer into the city, then be it. In the interim, she would have their space to herself.

Space was not something needed when in need of warmth if that person is Cannon Eason.

Cannon Eason had felt casted out all of his life. Ava made him feel wanted, needed. Maybe even too needed on occasions, but she was his muse, his inspiration when his life had been so tragically disrupted. She had been there when there was no one else. More than anything, she listened. She had this way of looking at you and seeing beyond the cavalier attitudes, the rebuttals and recognizance.

Perhaps, if the two bugs mating outside of Benton Silverwood’s window had known that their mating was about to light the fuse under a cannon, they would have been more secretive in their show of affection.

Check out the video @ 4:10!