To become the arrow in flight,
I must first take aim.

Green-eyed wanderings.  Taken by surprise as the rain soaks us to the bone.  We sit surrounded by foxgloves and nettles.  A collection of magic and green medicine, her knowledge of folklore soothes.

The fallen oak offers shelter.  We strike a match, the fire warms.  Huddled together once more.  Another moment to share.  Outside the crows caw.  Flames flicker, smoke rises.  Our clothes begin to dry.

Blue sky breaks through the clouds.  Like the sun we rise.  The homeward path is long.

A violet petal sparkles,
sun glints from the sky.

It's hard to rest.  Rain is pouring.  No sunshine. Mind is swarming.  

We used to clasp hands.  Philosophical fingers. Long and lean. Exclamation marks. Bluest eyes you'd ever seen.

Today it rains. I watch it zip down the glass. Pouring drinks at a bar.  The neon sign becomes her gaze.  Lipstick smudges the rim.  Russian ***** encore.  Wild Horses couldn't drag me away.

A quarter moon
she shines.

Relaxed, beside
the lines.

A lantern marks
the night.

March 21st 2017 -

Early to rise... breakfast served.  We face one another.  Hazel eyes meeting blue.  Idle chit-chat accompanies the Nescafe. The morning post sits unopened. Tomorrow everything will change. But for now we remain innocent.