Craving summer still, but not wishing life away, they made the most of winter day in refuge and rest from cold by fire hearth in among amongst the trees.
Sky was blue and shone in layered, varied shades that lightened of blue into near white as others shaded darker, holding threads of red, in make of varied violet hues; paintbrush waves of clouds upon clouds in western sky’s detail.
Within the home and open room, he added hedge into the hearth, begin of fire’s take like sparkler as it crackled spitting flecks of yellow, blue, and pure-white fire into chimney and outward, but dying off, before reaching floor of room. Tempering, crackle sounded still though spitting far less flame.
He read a book of Walker Percy; hers, a book of summer and garden party themes.
He dreamt her in the Percy scene, antebellum and southern air. He imagined them in loss and find of wandering way through city scene of wrought iron gates, fleur de lis, secret gardens found down alleys and in hide of guarding walls. He dreamt the sights. He dreamt the sounds—romance of a city raised and settled on silt of the Great Heart River.
He dreamt of food, taste and scents, spice and heat in after-bite.
Heat of the hedge broadened outward from the hearth adding temperature to room. He looked to her, unbothered, in summer dress, peace, and mind, in repose as she read and took in details of intricate pictures and arrangements.
He imagined her on veranda porch, overlook onto street below, then turning in; low draw of the blinds, close of the shades, making love on wall and floor, spring-song of the brass-rail bed amidst the sounds of city in full life; whisper of sweet and dirty nothings in a broken Quarter-French; her answer, worded and other ways, encouraging strong and on.
Fire flared again, and he perspired in the heat.