We walk hand in hand

through the trees to a view

that spreads out under the bluffs.

Her blindness is new.

I want her home

before a night chill sets in,

but her soft voice

calls to me again.

                        “I remember yellows,

                        reds and oranges in the sky

                        that fade into blues up high.

                        The woods smell of fresh pine,

                        their needles break with no pain.

                        A stream far below wanders to the plain.

                        Deer raise their heads

                        with twitching ears;

                        eagle’s wings cut the wind like shears.”

I’m quieter now.

There’s time to prepare.

I see nothing when I look and

she sees everything out there.