Springtime in California

The Jet Ride

The cold air seeps between my window and the steel walls of the jet. It's private, of course, nothing but his best for me. I can see him looking towards me, wistful. He cannot come from the land of ice and snow. He is a guide, those who can pay are shown the wonders from boats, surprisingly warm and safe compared to the frigid world around them.

I don't want to leave, my love is here, but my home is elsewhere. I've tried to detach the roots of my soul from her, but it only followed by ruin.

My mother needs me to care for my birthright.

Its Spring in California.

The jet speeds, my man becomes a blur and disappears into the swirling snow. I will see him soon enough, but my stomach drops. My mother says I drank his poison, but I don't think so. No venom would make me so infatuated. I would stay with him, but it's Spring in California.

I grew up tending the vineyard. Spring was always my favorite. The new green delicate vines intertwining with the strong mature stems was the way I clung to my mother. Our days were lingering; full of light. The contrast between my love and my home is so drastic that it blinds me. I remember the day I saw him. He was visiting his brothers, one from the city and the other from an island in the pacific. They came to enjoy the vineyard's deep drafts of wine.

I came up from the fields, feet dirty, soul warm. I never had the cimmerian wine, and my mother said it would overcome me, but when he offered, the moon reflecting off the surface and shining in his eyes, tempting me. I took it, I drank. The dark melody of vintage grape and fresh pomegranates were unmistakable. It only took six sips, and am lost in his eyes. I was falling, into his body, his dark soul, into his bed. It was cold in the moonlight, our rushing bodies intertwining. So strong, yet so gentle. I had never loved a man like him. The boys from my youth were tepid, not like him. I sank into his abyss, and I never wanted to return.

I snap from memory as the plane hits turbulence. It's not uncommon. When the polar wind hits balmy California air, there is always conflict.

The once soft and tranquil sunrises became too intense for me. I needed his shade. He was only at the vineyard for a week, but it felt like a lifetime. In the night he came to me, pressing his lips into my ear and pulling me into him. "Come away with me," He whispered. I comply. I leave everything behind that day: my inheritance, my childhood, and my mother.

I left the sun.

At first, nothing changed. The summer, the autumn, and the winter were the same, but when Spring came, nothing was growing in California. Depressed from the lack of purpose, my mother drew into herself. The vineyard had no life. The grounds became untended. What's the point of caring for your daughter's future when she has cast it aside.

That's when she called, her voice shaking over the phone. She begged me to return, but my love had already frozen and buried under the snow. I couldn't leave him, but I couldn't forget her. "Please come home, Kore," she begged. "I will not grow the vineyard if you're not here." I knew she meant it. After arrangements were planned, I visited every Spring to help her start the season.

As we descend my ears pop as my spirit lifts. My love may be in Alaska, but my home is springtime California.

I can see her now, long hair, sun-wrinkled skin, smiling at me. I run to her, a child again. My skin remembering the sun, my heart remembers her embrace.

Finally, I'm home.

And its springtime in California.