Weekend arrived, again they went to woods, to wilds: hidden home within the trees.
In soft snow fall, they left from the city as dim of day darkened full into cloud-cover night of black. They drove in headlight shine forward into black, snowfall’s sight small in the distance and large in pass, melting when caught to windshield’s face.
Lights of small and rural towns shone in peripheries of the land, low white light in glow from horizons that shaded upward into depths and tones of low clouds that appeared as billow-smoke of winter snow.
Farther from city, nearer to woods, she felt a levity from falling away: a spirit free in spacing and distance away from work and worries hurry of life unslowed to value the simple pleasures. In the snow, winter’s dark, conditions of the road—all slowed, back to pace that saw and savored details, like snow as speck in headlight distance grown and appeared in full of flake, passed in drive of night.
They reached the gates, opened then closed behind, and she felt the greater levity in travel of the lane, its cedar line, descent and climb over creek bed crossing frozen and covered in snow. Wheels slid in descent, slush melt in the travel that come morning would be line-tracks of ice.
In the shadow of trees, home was dark—but welcoming—awaiting their return.
They opened door, he made for hearth and beginning of the flame. Kindling of papers and small gathered woods beside and larger stack of split and long-cured wood.
Dark of the room, she heard the pop and crackle start of flame; saw details in its small and beginning cast of light grown in the adding and take of new pieces until fire and heart were full and its light defined the room.
She desired more, a greater heat, and—wanting—she set into build of second flame. In opened heart of an heirloom stove, she stoked a second fire. Like he in hearth, she began with kindling in grow of the fire, piece by piece, into take of a full-heart fire.
It had not been lit, warmed in years, and there was an enchantment to see the heart of forgotten piece restored to use and flame; way of its light to white lacquered doors and sky blue lettered name, Laurel, on the doors. It took, burning strong in heart of wooden stove as she closed the doors and tamped flue and air of fire’s feed so that fire burned as heat, and less of light, affecting outward into the room.
Beyond, in night, snowfall remained light and soft in windless fall. Cover of cloud softened at folds. Night light shone in hint through the creases; as in the home, hearth burned strong; room and space in full illume as laurel’s fire added to the heat; each affected in the change.
Free in the spirit, alive in her peace, she moved and acted first, undressing in the warmth, naked in home’s night heat.
He followed suit, and she smiled in watch and display of his attraction.
She loved their escape, life found and made in still and slow of home hidden in the trees.
She moved to him, body’s sway in her nakedness, unhelp of his smile—natural and untrying in admire and more—and the way of his eyes brightened in hearth heart-light. She held to his hands, drawn in step farther from hearth, into softer light and greater heat neared to temper of the laurel burn.
Greater warmth, stronger sense, her smile and half-close of eyes as they kissed and bodies brushed and met in keeping touch; gentle, heated, alive to every delicate sense; greater smile in break of first kiss; return into strong and a further deep; soft nip to his tongue in break of the next in want for his lips’ return.
His answering of her wish.
Alone in the wild. Alone in the woods, they were free to love and be. They slowed. Seeing, sensing, savoring every intimate and delicate detail; new and strong no matter all known of ways and times before.
Different, changed, new way and aware of love in the gifted-heat, low temper-fire of strong-burning, awakened heirloom heart.