Spring Evening

I heard her at the telephone. “Do come early,” she was saying, “while the light lasts. The dog-wood is in blossom, the mountains are wonderful. It is,” she said, “too heavenly. Do come, while the light lasts....” Outside on the veranda I could see the light, I could see the dog-wood in bloom and a mountain And more! What else there was I am trying to tell: Not colour for I am no artist. Not glamour for I am not in love; Not any more magic than I am accustomed to; Not presence I think--though perhaps after all it was presence. But something else was there, exquisite, insistent. When she came back I looked up to see if it met her. But she only said: “It is too heavenly. I hope they will come while the light lasts.” I knew that she did not see what I saw. But what did I see....