They wandered to the river,
two grateful hearts
savouring autumn gold
as if it were a plum that travelled far
for consummation.
One allowed the cooling season in
to calm the fire,
begin the forward bend,
the slow protective shelter,
descent into quiet,
warm nest against the cold.
One allowed vivid tongues of leaf
to lick her heart,
stoke heat in bright rally
against impending night.
Two lush fruit at harvest,
sunkissed and windscoured,
rooted in the searing void,
cherishing earth.
The river taught,
its ageless empty flow
carrying yet another conversation,
soundwaves lapping at some farther northern shore.
The weavers wove their words
on the loom of meandering footsteps,
finding new paths back home.
And then –
bright decadent parade,
pure grace descending in the shape of leaves,
a swirling yellow joy
enveloped both,
adorned the day with sweet recognition,
slowing the heartbeat of time
so two could share the blessing.