When we were children
and your hair was still cut straight across your forehead,
you used to turn to run and your hair would whip across my face,
and still I ran to chase you.
When we played with blue plums,
you would save the ripest ones for yourself
and offer me the bruised ones.

For our winter wedding,
your dress was so thick
that you could not even feel my hand on your back,
but I was the force pushing you back down the aisle
after the ceremony
as my wife.

I wish I had not had to leave
right at the start of spring.

The trees along the river do nothing to protect me from rain.
They lean their heads low and water runs from their leaves
on to my face and shoulders.
They do shade nearly all traces of sun, though.
Wind whips across my face.
I appreciate the breeze despite the debris.
And even though autumn is progressing,
The wind is warming.
I will be home before it starts carrying snow.