All hearts harbor hauntings. So it was when she returned.
He saw her once again, her face and smile: sand blonde hair with sun bleached strands that scattered like bending rays of light in dance with summer winds; spread of sun-kissed freckles over bridge of nose that spilled onto cheeks and skies of sun-tanned skin; the continuation of her Cosmos, freckled stars over shoulders and spread of open chest bared in suits on summer days and furthermore in true-star nights; the way her constellations paled—receding into sky—in autumn and winter’s softer light.
He remembered their summer: country fields and open world, the cool of spring-fed streams they floated alone in peak of summer’s heat with their flowing waters—pure and endless—rising from depths and heart of the world.
There was her warmth of lips in the last of summer’s nights and first of autumn’s feel—when the cold and change begin and daylight winds, day-after, denude the first of autumn’s gold in gust to fall and float and spiral over face of mountain stream before disappearing forever after into oblivion and dream that is the end to summer’s youth.
*****
She returned to him in the change of autumn’s approach, in cool nights’ air and the rising voice of cricket-song that plays until first hard freeze and all of it would end.
All hearts harbor hauntings. So it was when she returned.