In February still, they walked the trail in cedar line, corridor-path between the trees from road to hidden home and lawn amongst the trees that became a place of magic and almost-heaven in hour of evening shade.
He loved to be with her in place, she present and immersed in a love other than romance, as she defined, though to him romance remained.
To him, all was romance that raised a spirit into bloom—giving and sharing in show saved and guarded inner beauty.
The love she felt was a love of grounding, a love of roots, that in tie and retuning to a place brought enrichment to life’s rest. It shone in her skin. It shone in her smile, in freedom of spirit—like sky and wind—that seemed without bound or limit.
To see her so, in free of way, was a romance of its own—even if she did not see.
They walked together hand-in-hand as trail descended to a crossing where, at its reach, she led in turn as they walked wind of a dry-bed creek.
Banks of the bed were sharp and steep, its bottom of rounded stones—polished in run—and pocket holes covered and filled with leaves from autumn and winter’s fall. Along its banks, nearly all the trees were bare. Woods narrow-lined the banks of creek that, beyond, gave way to pastures and open fields.
At bend in the bed, a large stone laid haven fallen—loosened and freed—from bound in the earth. Upon it, they sat, still hand in hand, rock becoming bench in hidden rest amongst creek’s bed and corridor of treed cover.
She was in her love, grounding as her roots felt deep.
She was beautiful in her way.
Unhelping, desiring, he kissed her softly in cover and hidden of their place; warm and supple of her acceptance, lips’ part and whorl of tongue’s encourage; his match and greater spirit in energy of kiss’ response.
Love-joy in their smiles and break from the gifting, glow of her face in grounding as she leant back to hands and arms behind, her body forward pressed, still resting on the stone.
He raised her sweater and shirt beneath baring front of her to free. He took her in hands, warm hold of his grasp, cool of the air, and ends’ heat in cover of mouth’s cover; sigh of her breath to touched sensations, her hand to his hand in gentle draw and closer pressing to.
Break from kiss, released from hold, he covered her back from cool of sky. Her shaped and tipped affections showing, raised, through sweater-brown.
She was beautiful in her love, and though she did not call the love romance, by his, he helped her feel and see.
February winter still, endearingly, they bloomed.