After frost and grey of their day in Annie’s hometown, skies cleared and warmth restored. Through passage of the front, days and winds, autumn’s height in the hills and uplands was mostly passed but in the bottomlands beneath that held to river and its flats, the woods—different—were entering fullness of show and splendor.
They drove north on two lane roads that meandered slow and broad like the river and its flow, following lay and lie of the land, holding to the high points to save from floods that often came; and with each new bend, there appeared new views of woods and patchworked fields, intentionally small, valued more for their natural aesthetic and source for leisure and sport than for the crops grown upon and often flooded before ever taking harvest.
They were small fields that held family names, most of whom, like Annie, were moved away and leased the land to others who paid more in a season for the price for which it was purchased—for some, only the sweat of settlement and mark on government deed.
The bottomlands were different woods, and the rich deep soils lent to stronger colors. Around them and above were the auburns and amber of pin and shingle oaks, the deeper reds of white oaks changed as well as dull chartreuse of late-holding greens in yellowing transition.
They parked and entered into the timber taking game trail that followed spine of high bank that framed the river in its bed. It was a place and stand she’d known as a child, her family’s homeplace not far away; a place, in the floodplains, common to all but seldom ventured into by any: a pocket of solace and sanctuary in a sectored and parceled plain.
She wore brown leather boots, tall and to the knee, designed for urban streets and show but with sole and make matching equally well in the natural and mottled-colored woods. Above, sun shown in break and holes in the colored canopy, and a wind spoke through scratch and sweep of leaves on one another, some freeing and falling in slanted cast, spiraling slow in spin until settling to understory.
Like the leaves, wind caught too the tail and open wear of Annie’s sweater, grey cardigan over white shirt beneath that shown brightened and more striking in contrast to autumn colors that abound; and, too, wind caught in her sunbeam hair, stirring straight strands into scatter like very light through canopy above, only hers—with hand—she could capture, gather, and brush again to fall and hold and place smiling as she did, face blushed in stir and effect of autumn cool and warmth of sun, until wind scattered into stir and cast again.
In bends and sloughs of the river, autumn drab was accented in blasts of emerald flash, as they came upon pockets of wood ducks in their rest; taking into flight and whistling high sound as they flushed from their holds.
Walking, they strode lithe farther into sanctuary, disappearing from road and sounds and all but seeming selves and woods.
The deer were in rut, and as they ventured, there was a doe chased by a buck; and in their lust and make, animals were oblivious to their presence. Annie smiled, the naturalness of it all—forgotten, changed, or made to be ugly in world and style separated from design and simple order and beauty that lives in recognizing and allowing nature to live and be. Maybe they were made the same, love and lust and seasons of draw that made she and he both blind in the power of draw and pursuit of one another—even after they were caught, held, given and taken, loved, again and again in nature’s way; neither departing after from keep of one another.
Her face warmed, and a swoon swelled in feel and effect through body beginning in heart. She wanted his lips. She wanted his touch; and like the doe after trail and follow and final still and stand in woods; she wanted him.
His figure and form cast shadow on her face, light of the sun behind, and a wind blew speaking whisper sounds that scattered leaves in swirl and sunray hair, he taking and drawing back to place as lips moved to meet; her eyes closing to the light as greatest sense ceded into touch, hold of his hands, from brushing hair to low of hips, then rising high on sides in trace that warmed in want and anticipation of a wait, their sweep to front and cup that moved to grasp, greater hold and kiss; then move of hands around and behind, bringing body tight and firm to his.
Passion and intimacy in hold of a clothed and keeping kiss, splendor like auburn and amber woods still keeping of their leaves, speaking and hush-sounding on winds that slow denuded, breath by breath, in splendor of sunlit stirrings.