It was raining, and we were finding shelter under a glass canopy, our boots full of mud. He looked at me angrily, shaking his head. "I told you so! But no, you had to do it your way, hadn't you?"
I organised a party, a wedding, a something. What it was, specifically, is not actually important. I wanted the place to shine, to be full of people, laughter. I wanted to hear music and see people dancing. I wanted flowers and white and pale pink linen, and large tables on the lawn. I wanted lights and candles and a small orchestra. I wanted a dark night, but with a sky full of stars. I wanted wine and warm bread and salted butter. I wanted black olives and caper berries, and diced watermelon with crispy cucumber.
Instead, it was raining. The people were happy, yes, but some were already tired and feeling miserable. I was tired, and I was feeling miserable. He was just angry.
When they gave us the opportunity to run this old house, the grounds, and the farm, we argued from the get-go. He, a farmer, wanted to focus on crops and machinery: scheduled times and suppliers. He wanted to turn the old glass house into a hydroponic experimental plot, and to store part of the chemicals there… there! Can you imagine? Not under my watch! Yes, I understand: this was also a farm. Also… not only. The large house was perfect for parties, afternoon teas in the greenhouse, a rose garden, an evening of ballet and chamber orchestra, a book festival, and a maze! Who does not want a maze?
And so we clashed. His seeding, planting, weeding, foraging, ploughing schedules were driving me mad! In the meantime, I was arranging a festival, and there was music in the house, and people dropped by. But no — he had to sleep! How can you sleep when there are paint and paper and brushes in the house? In the end, he missed his planting, and I planned a party in the rain.
"If only you listened to me! The plants react to the weather! I would have told you about the rain by looking at the leaves... if only those leaves grew. But I missed the planting season..."
He left me there — cold feet in the mud, smiling half-heartedly while I still appreciated all those colors and smells and sounds… all my senses awake! I knew where he went, where he always went, with a frown on his face, and where he thought he was unseen. But as soon as I could, I joined him there. Beyond the lawn and behind the tall corn dancing in the wind, there is a small wild pond and two lounge chairs. He is there, and I often questioned if that second chair was for me...
He was sitting there, his eyes closed, a glass of whiskey in his hand. You could barely hear the music and the laughter from there. It is all so quiet... I sat next to him, and he handed me an empty glass and the bottle. I poured myself some, leaned back, and closed my eyes.
"We have to..." we both said at once.
"We have to learn to work together..." we both added.
"I can feel that you are hurt and angry, and I am sorry," I said. I opened my eyes, took a sip of this golden peated nectar, and looked around. As controlled, structured, and organised as he was, here he was, sitting in the wild, looking at an unpredictable pond, surrounded by a dark wood and embraced by whispering corn. And as creative and flamboyant as I was, I knew that I liked the protection of the house, the warmth of a fire, and my senses alighted by the elements.
I will learn to see and love his wild side, and he will learn to protect my creative mind, my visionary thinking, and my books on botany and ancient farming. We will design, together, a herb garden and a rose garden. There will be two chairs in the large library, as the two at the pond. Just as the masculine energy of structure and practicality brings grounding, I will bring him the warmth of intuition, imagination, and spontaneity. Together, we will find a balance — he with his rooted connection to the earth, and I with my desire to dance freely in the realm of ideas and beauty. Structure without warmth is cold and aseptic, and warmth with no structure dissipates and disappears. This is our journey: to reconcile the masculine and feminine within us, the animus and anima, and learn to work together in harmony, allowing both to nourish and support each other in a shared vision.
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