The worn path, a solitary journey for so long

sees two figures making their way

He - 

sure of the path, but not the destination

She -

trusting in him, likewise unsure

close

but not touching

Until a slip on a grassy slope

sends him to her side

hands offered to steady her 

the reassurance accepted

but soon released

Reaching the expanse of sand and sea

they move slightly apart

their apparent destination gained

Relaxed now,

they ramble carefree along the shore

pausing to ponder the beauty of a shell,

the smooth surface of a gleaming pebble

lost in the delight of a shared discovery

thrilling to the chase of an errant wave

ripples of laughter float in their wake

like the spray of the ocean tossed.

Unaware of the passing hours,

the setting sun finally, generously, bathes them

in her golden glow.

They pause yet again, 

in growing awareness that perhaps

this perfect moment enfolding them

was their destination all along.

Again his hands extend to her

accepted without hesitation

dark eyes gazing upwards 

into the clear blue windows of his soul

Full of promise and hope

Drawing closer, his head bends to hers

gently, tentatively, their lips meet

tasting of the salt spray

For both a first

lingering with pent-up longing,

Full of promise and hope

Turning to make their way back as they came

this time . . . 

fingers entwined, gently closing the space

as they move together

anticipation momentarily satisfied

knowing they have a world of time ~

fifteen or fifty?

~ 02.15.10