I watch
as Yehudit
walks towards me,
the sway of her hips,

her hair held back
with grips,
her blue eyes lowered,
her hands

in the pockets
of her dark green coat.
It's late November,
chill winds,

greying sky;
we meet on the edge
of the woods.
Got held up,

she says,
Mum wanted me
to help fold
the washing.

She knows you're here
meeting me?
Yes, of course,
although didn't

say where;
she assumes
it's at your house
with your mother

keeping an eye.
She looks towards
the wood.
May have been

a better idea,
than out here,
she says.
We can go

to my place
if you like,
my mother
won't mind.

Then we won't
be alone.
Yehudit looks at me.
We can always sit

in the front lounge,
I suggest,
no one goes
in there much.

She looks
at the woods.
Ok, then,
your house it is.

We make our way
towards the house,
through the back gate,
in through

the back door.
My mother's at the stove,
preparing dinner,
steam rising

from the pots and pans.
Ok, if we go  
through to
the front lounge?

I ask her.  
Hello, Yehudit;
sure you can,
she says,

watching as we walk
through the middle room
into the front lounge
and close the door.

We sit in
the two seater settee.
Her hand finds mine.
We're next to each other.

No wind, no rain,
just us, alone;  
outside
the pitter patter

of rain,
and the wind's moan.