High of day, they stayed indoors in shelter from the sun looking out through open views on fields and sky of blue. Warm wind blew in sweep from south in draw to storm in north—somewhere beyond the blue. It ringed the chimes on outdoor stoop, spoke in conversations of leaves and trees.
Indoors, he wrote a romance in recording of it all. Across she watched, patient and waiting, for when done and he would share; drawn into the words; drawn into the dream already given life as bloom; where on the floor before the hearth—open bodied, free of home—she was swept in southern wind and loved strong upon the plush.