Cold arrived and settled in as sky made crisp and clear, cloudless and still as cold drew moisture’s presence from the air and formed as intricate crystal lattice over window glass of translucent golden glow as light of sun sought in penetration through.
Even within the room, bed, sheets, and down throw of white, the change was felt. Her skin rose in affection of the air, goosebumps’ rise over arms and legs, her nipples drawn sharp and small in drawing in as she moved from bed and made to dress.
She layered in her wear for day amongst the world. She needed escape from the place—at least for a time—air, crispness, rejuvenation in the sun; and so she dressed in accord to world’s condition.
As she did, he admired, viewing all from bed: her beauty in beginning, each step and layered add—admiring, endeared, and still retain of beginning’s vision and nakedness of morning-rise.
White turtleneck of corduroy pattern striping vertical in design, she added brown wool sweater upon, its neck and collar loose and open showing broad of shoulders and collar in cover of turtleneck’s white. Upon, she added coat, a further he of brown and last, whether for warming or spirit-accent, chartreuse scarf in covering of neck.
Dressed and adorned, they went into the world in cover and guard from cold. In progress of steps and distance, they warmed in the sun and bodies’ move as they walked amongst the world: late autumn parks of trees mostly in nude, scatter and pile and drifts of leaves amongst trees’ trunks, on the curbs of roads, color and clutter of drainage grates. From parks and lawns and open scene, they moved into change of urban set: stone and cement fronts of stores and shops, smaller trees where roots were set in confine by cement framed containments, their branches also nude, their colors gone in street-sweep clean as they walked, sun high above in light of shadowless urban canyon lanes.
They looked into windows. Some shops, they went in—coffee for their walk, and into a used bookstore in search of a story unknowing what it was but believing it was there, on page or in self, and in hope a sign would guide.
Within the store, in its narrow rows and shelves of offerings, he drew many stories from their place. He was drawn to neutral colors: common fronts, indistinct that—in ideal—hid amazements underneath, beauty and spirit intimately learned in open and discover of saved and waiting wonder wanting only to be found and shared and known.
Spine upon spine, cover after cover, he searched the shelves as, near, she did the same. The more he searched, the more he knew—the story wasn’t there, not on shelf.
Story was alive, there beside.
Heat of a stir and strengthen of heart as mind and spirit then attuned.
Reading, sensing, aware of new dynamic—her posture changed, new attention appeared from corner of eye, match-attunement feigning not to be; shift of her weight into bear of one hip more than other, stretch of her back that expanded her chest more fully beneath the brown, chartreuse’s flash in lead from neck to loose-ended settle-fall on center-chest.
Plain and neutral of her wear, hidden wonder underneath, color accent-flash, bright and striking, attention-holding over cover that drew and kept attention to.
Mind went beneath the cover in imagine of the story, his build of want expanding in accord with sensed attune: autumn eyes passive to page in active seeking of his own; coy smile’s share when found.
He dreamt away her neutral cover, open of beauty beneath returned in appear as morning’s rise, but new and further details: lips’ rouge and chartreuse’s keep her last and only covering and garb, bright of her scarf from neck in fall nest-settled into cleft, her breasts and nipples restored and full in day-heat of room and energy between; her smile as then, coy in encourage; shadow and light of autumn eyes; taste and sense of lips and tongue as he laid her back into love’s make on cloud-throw of down.
Within his eyes, she read story she had sought.
She returned held book back to shelf, tug then to chartreuse ends, fabric stretching in the pull. Take of hand, autumn eyes, not waiting, they made in haste for home.