Leaves of the hackberries, willows, and birch reminded him of aspens—snow in the high country. Yellows of them all, though bark more gray than aspen’s white, they were striking in a color and contrast to the barren harvested autumn-ground around.
Like the aspens, leaves of the willows fell first from the lowest branches, then upward in denude and ascent to tree’s most height. The lowest branches were already bare. Slender blades of the willow leaves shone most in their tops, blown and given life by winds across the ridge and in sweep to bottoms where they grew in waterways at edges of the field.
It was a common country field. Colored autumn stands framed east and south horizons where the highlands settled at the river—auburns and ambers and stands of still deep greens of the oaks that were the last cede their green.
There were no mountains there.
But there were in mind.
In mind, he went.
*****
They walked the aspen woods, yellow-gold of fluttering leaves in sweep across the ridge; thin tawny stand of mountain grass beneath—killed of the frosts and winter’s near. Denim of jeans, blue as the sky; suede of her boots as the tawny grasses, pointed toed in western way that made him think of elven queens in mountain and wood lore. White turtleneck, pure-fair as her skin, peat coat of camel hue in layer and wear above; charm-gleam of the pendant, flashing in sun, like communing, speaking star; glint-pulse of the gold in reflect of the sun across its whole of face upon turtleneck’s background white; loose fall of her hair in curl and wave as spiraled rays from source of high.
He forgot about the mountainside, the aspens in their gold. All he saw and thought was her: pendant charm in glint-gold pulse upon white in stretch of hiding cover of heart and breasts; heavy of his heartbeat as pulsing gold before his see.
Blow of a wind, its whisper in trees, whirl and sweep fall-flutter of leaves freeing from high limbs. Her smile, her eyes—dazzle of each even more than pendant-charm still pulsing, speaking, communing as star—spell-casting from the heart.
*****
He returned to world from dream longing still for aspen scene; to lie as the leaves in wind-swept whirl to rest on mountain side; to place his hand to pendant-charm—to feel her heart beneath; spell-casting, pulse-telling, as her charm.