The night wore on. The sky above was laced with unnumbered sparks – the friendly fires of the stars. The moon's gleam on the ripples like a ghost crept across the dark waters wafting my memory again to the past.

I had waited for her long before the appointed time. A cloud of anxiety stalled the flow of time. My worry-worn heart hung on my face which for the want of where to look was gazing up at the moon in fixed concentration.

"She would throw her washing water into your eyes" a voice said.

I turned around to see who spoke.

It was Ifeoma.

"What?" I asked.

"The woman in the moon – she would throw her washing water into your eyes"

"I don't understand" I replied.

"You see those dark markings on the moon – they seem to form a woman, bending over and washing plates. And if you stareat her the way you are doing into your eyes would come the dirty water."

"Where did you hear that?"

"From here and there" she said chuckling.

"Around and about probably?" I added, playfully.

"From above and below also" she said

"From varied places, it seems." I continued. "like the wondering heart of a man in love."

"Or the unsteady steps of a lady about to say "yes" " she added placing her palm on the back of my hand.

The import of her gesture did not register in my mind immediately.

Then it did!

I felt like singing, I felt like crying. I felt like jumping, I felt like running. I felt like proclaiming it from the mountain top.

She loved me.

Yes, she loved me. She had made it known better than words would have done. The truth of her affection had been graced by better deeds other than words.

What words could do that?

What words could convey her message any more convincingly than her touch had done. May be she spoke after all – a speech of no words; spoke not audible words meant for the natural ear but silent words that were winged with light – illuminating the darkness in my heart; words which my thirsty soul drank hungrily like the dry, parched earth receiving its first rains.

That my protestation of love had yielded same filled me with joy that coursed through my veins in a riot. What fortune is mine that that I have her hand; richer I am with her heart in my keeping. To look into those clear, still eyes of hers and be lost in their wonder. To watch the love in her heart curve her lips in a smile to ravish my soul. To stand helpless before the aura of her enchantment – a prisoner – glad to be caught in those hoops – her arms.

The rest of that evening was spent in each others company muttering, what lovers have spoken to each other I guess since the dawn of time.

***