They walked paved trail along the park beneath the autumn trees: honey-amber of the maples, scarlet of the oaks, beginning of leaves’ fall in strewn and blow over path and lawn of open green.
A somber went unspoken, but held and felt—as cloud—amongst a perfect blue. Feeling, sensing, he spoke.
“I hope it’s a good day for you,” he spoke, aware of potential for a weight and sadness. “I hope it’s a filled with special memories—and receive of a sign or two.”
He desired to say, and so he did—finding way and means.
She wore a camo hat of style not worn and sold in years, and on the road, beside the park, an old blue truck drove by—out of place in setting but in fit to memory.
She smiled on the sign.
She took his hand, gently and strong, in way of intimacy. Happy memories came into mind, arisen from the heart, as together they walked the leave strewn path under honey-amber of the maples tinged in memories too.
She knew: no one is ever truly gone when saved within the heart.