They sat together at island place in study of patterned prints. To each, he imagined her upon. She was beautiful, made the patterns more so, and he could not help but think.
For a subtle room few would notice or see, but they would, it was reason enough to remodel and make in way and special of dream’s imagine.
Commonality in all was a taupe or faint-tan tone of background that gave ambiance of a natural, soothing calm. Upon the commonality, patterns layered, each in their own design.
“Which do you like?” she asked.
Truth, whatever one she chose because he knew it’d raise a joy in her that he would share—to see its roll upon the walls, spirit of room and she both changed, the way she’d light and the way she’d glow amidst the natural, soothing tone.
Still, he knew, this wasn’t answer she desired. She cared to know which of the patterns, spread before, appealed to him the most.
There were three: one with a squirrel, another a pheasant, and the last a simple two-toned print—taupe of beneath and deeper dark of green-brown draw he imagined as tree of life; wide and broad of trunk, roots unseen, life’s reside amongst the wide branch spread and shelter of earth beneath. This was as the image seemed to him.
He took the three prints from the spread and set them apart and aside.
“I like these,” he answered.
She smiled, enjoying and valuing he gave each thought and cared because it mattered to her. And too, one of the three, was favorite of her too.
“What do you like about them?” she asked.
“The squirrel and the pheasant, they make me think of the country—woods and fields and slow of time to wander and walk as far and as long as one cares to go. I like the thought, and I like the ideal…And the last, it reminds me of a Tree of Life—life becoming of and existing in its branches and on earth beneath. It seems a nice grounding for a home: beauty and wonder of a short-lived life amongst something that’s eternal…I like thought and ideal of this one too.”
He saw her eyes change in view as she listened, mind in muse and seeing too the patterns as he did.
He smiled, taking Tree of Life in hand and slide to under of her arm beside: taupe of the background, green-brown of lines, beneath clean-bright of her freckled white.
“You’d be beautiful on all,” he told in both tease and truth.
Widen of her smile, hue of cheeks in blush, her warm in response and play.
“But I won’t look like this forever…”
“All the more reason to love and celebrate you now.” Further tease and truth, he kissed her lips, thumb of his hand light to chin, hand’s rest, gentle, to under-jaw.
Break of kiss, she wet her lips, then leant again, in and close, back for their soft and gentle.
Hand’s move from chin to hold of hers, both still in island place.
Rising.
Standing.
His hand to hers, he led her to room where they lived then as they knew it’d be: her beauty’s bare; slow and strong of intimate, wild’s natural soothe and spirit-calm upon the patterned print.