Day by day, autumn showed the more—in yellow of the maple, morning sign, in descent and stairwell’s turn as she entered into day.
Day by day, she longed again for return to house in the trees; for dark set frame hewn of wood of the land that, made, became piece and part the same: natural and belonging though body and form were changed.
She dreamt of the trees, day by day, becoming into their full brilliance; pale and depart of the lightening green into reveal and whole of yellow’s bright.
She longed for return. She longed to see—to rest in the house and trees.
Friday came, work week’s end. Midday, they departed for her desire.
On drive—observing—more fields were cut, more land made bare. Some showed with narrow lines of wheat’s planting in after-follow of the harvest.
All the drive, woods were changed, autumn more fully in its becoming: yellows and oranges and shadow-scarlets coloring hills and river bottoms untouched by cultivation and the clearing plow.
House and lawn were as she’d dreamed—whether prescience and premonition or a knowing from childhood memory that never leaves and colors as ideal for all the rest of life.
The air was cooler than in last. She sensed it on and through her skin: over face, over collar, upon open neck between and on arms in long-sleeve wear, unbuttoned cuffs rolled high to middle of forearms.
She breathed the cool. She breathed the fall, spirit of the place.
There was still the dazzle. There was still the dream—mirth in moment and being. Elation and high of last were less, but peace and a settle of belonging rested greater then within.
Holding hands, they walked the lawn under yellow canopy and sunlight’s cast filtered and colored same.
He kissed her in press behind tin farm shed—gentle and warm as the sun and her peace. After, banded yellow shone again, drawn in rise through green spirit of her eyes; keep of smile and peace and a holding to in expression of a love.
She wanted to lie with him before the hearth in daylight and in dark, slow and gently kissing. No race, nor rush, no aim or end of state—just being—keeping and continuing in gift of love expressions. She wanted to gaze into his eyes, to have his upon hers, to look on smiles in pauses between and—wanting—to have in kiss the smile and lips again; to feel his touch, both gentle and strong, in communion and expression without ever a spoken word; to lie on their sides, she in hold of his face, breasts’ close together-press from lie and arms beside; smiling, kissing, keeping on; mirth in the moment, soft laughings and sighs—sounds of endearment—their only voiced sounds: no race, no rush, no aim or end; just being, loving, in place that felt evermore as home.