fifty trees bereft of leaves
whipping back and forth
in a swift walking wind
by the cold waters of the river
the stone wall separates them from
the field
she sits in its shadow
facing the small stretch of sand
where we beached our rowboat
having spent the morning drifting down river
we take a rest in the shade
and eat the cold meats
salty and alive with flavours
drink the crisp wine
**** and warm
to the palate
the meal lay like an unburdened waif
sleeping sound in safe harbour
fifty trees with nothing
but a crown of birds nest
with naught but wind rocking stiff limbs
create such a sound
in the fall air
that is foretaste of winters solitude
of cold nights hand
the rain sweeps in with a
sudden rush
scattering the summer birds
that had come to sing for us
the humid thick air
shifts as the clouds overhead move
in swift silence
we sheltered in the fifty trees
till the storm had passed
i held her to me
and we made love
in the late day sun
now an old man
i wake with the fifty trees
imprinted on my thoughts
just as they had been that day
thirty seven years ago