The First and Last by Iris Morton

We begin the walk 
Woodside to Stoney Brook
heading out our fledgling arms join,
inhaling each other
deep,  
our combined essence swirls on this atmospheric,
quintessential, 
autumn bright day.

In this moment we take pause, 
we breathe in all things pure 
giving honor to afternoon’s sun and her radiant shine

Trying to always remember
we choose granite stones 
laying the sacred labyrinth
at nature’s center,
untapped maple reach for sassafras hickory and hard wood oak,
fresh moss mounds open from the breeze of dragonfly wings,
Honeybee offer their comb and iridescent hummingbirds whiz about in celebration.
Drips of nectar find our lips.

Gazing up for this glory 
green eyes of glass,
our backdrop hovers 
in brief possession 
of forget me not blue.

Still unknowing of
our own direction
second life for first loves
found this time in a Devil’s Hopyard,
slow sure strides 
setting the pace, 
gathering trust 
in each other’s sure footedness.

Sylvan Hill, 
witness to the swell
our wave remains 
to and for only, 
us.

Countless burnt orange
crimson rust and golden amber drops 
all in the process of loosing their value
focus stays on 
our fading gifts from father sky
this is a path we dutifully follow 
in determination 
our unison gait 
plows through 
attentively mixing the painters pallet.

Dusk 
gingerly peers in
damp with tears 
it’s the moment to tip toe 
over the made up line
an intrusive and oversize 
STOP, 
marks our parting
candy apple red 
shocking 
graffiti spray spits,
out of context 
nonsense.

Ash tree on the corner
a trickster 
seductively leaning, luring 
seemly heathy 
but infested with deadly emerald borer,
her partner Elm
reigns above rotten roots
shedding branches on fresh paved asphalt,
delicate flat leaves  
shaped of lemons 
hold serrated edges rounding every last curve.

Unable to see the spot in which we started 
night abducts us 
and we recoil 
Holiday Drive
I fall numb
and ungrounded.

From now until April 
it’s slow motion 
blows 
backlash
distant echoes 
going through 
being through.
Walking home alone
not alone
far away
I can 
and I do 
still hear
quite you.