In the steep-walled sanctuary, valley of dream, they made love beneath shadow of trees; in the half-light of river’s edge where air held low and cool in blanket over water’s face and laurel bloomed in the first of June; blossom bells opened in splendor of revelation colored in purity of white and tenderness of soft-pink vividness; delicateness of petals tattooed with deeper mark whose color, in contrast to the innocence, enhanced allure of dream-cast sight.
Honest and pure: it was a love lasting little longer than beauty beholden in the bloom but endured forever-after as eternal summer to his soul. Like the river’s edge in innocence and pink-rose accents awakened in Heaven’s half-light, she was a splendor, wonder, never known or found again.
In heart, there was always a warmth—warmth of broken sunlight, warmth of touch, hold, warmth of love’s becoming cradled complete in the cool of river’s air around; even when, in the end, only laurel lasted evergreen.