They walked in the woods having lost the trail, neither minding, both in know that to lose one’s self—sometimes—is a gift. Worn in pattern and path of game, it paralleled the lay of ridge, little gain or loss in elevation—path of least resistant in a sloped and rugged land.
Elevation, terrain, and mountain stream’s lie and guide beneath defined and mapped the land. It was not so much that they were lost, but trail, path, and way ahead became entirely theirs to make. Both derived an enjoyment in the knowing: a path and way, to life ahead, made in their own pace of meander, wind, and wild-spirit wander.
Together, they rested in sit to low rock ledge appearing as inviting to a bench. To it they say, sharing water, and gazing through thinning canopy of trees to wild and lay of the world around: weathered ridges in all directions carved of eternal springs that ran even in the present season and its drought. Below, at bottom and ending of descent, they heard the sound of stream over stone, soft babble and ledge splash of greater falls.
Together, they smiled absorbing sight and listen of the sounds.
Where they were going, neither knew or cared. They were where they were meant to be: gifted bench for rest and peace, serenity, solitude, vista view of precipice; a future theirs to make.
He kissed her in the movement of soft wind through valley, woods, and expanded world: cool God-breath of sky and their living warmths of own. She smiled, then took, wanting his kiss again.
Cool of air breathed again, and he held her closer, tighter, into his living warmth; keep of kiss away-fluttering cold like leaves from hold into vastness of valley-fall.
Kiss meekened, then was gone, but after-warmth remained.
Smile of eyes, smile of face, still holding—together—they rose and moved from precipice and view onward in meander, wind, and wild-spirit wander into life together-made.