Summer’s Endings

The clouds were dark. The sky was heavy.
The distant thunder heralded summer’s endings.

With his soft hair streaming,
his walk a jaunty leap against the wind,
he came to her waiting in the empty road,
under the sool babool tree.

She looked at him with soft eyes,
and passed a light hand over his hair;
it had been a while;
she had missed him.

He gave her a quick kiss; but did not take her hand as he usually did,
as they walked side by side.

It was a long accustomed route they took.
The road narrowed to a path when it entered the brush forest;
their usual hideout from prying eyes.
They walked in deep. They walked in silence. She felt comfortable.

They reached the riverbed by which they usually sat.
The river had turned into a thin summer trickle in the silk-smooth sand.
She sat on the rotting log, as usual.
He seemed restless. He walked up to the ribbon of water,
and looked in the distance, as if searching for something.

It was getting dark. The rain was imminent.

“So?” she said.

“What... Oh..” He replied absently. He turned and came and sat beside her.

The log was old and broad. Soft moss made it almost downy.
He lay down and put his head on her lap. Like he always did.

“This is bliss,” he said, breathing her in. She smelled of the old moss, log wood,
and the citrus scent she always used.

She wrapped him in her arms. The kiss was long,
as if it had to last for all time.

“This is bliss,” he muttered again in her breast.

She caressed his hair.
The wind picked up. The trees rustled.
The trickle of water rippled restlessly.
Soon it would be a gushing torrent.

“So?” She asked again, after a while.

“It’s no, you know,” he replied in a rush.

She was still. He was still wrapped in her arms.
In the distance the dark Thunder God erupted.
It began to rain.

-by Rita Putatunda