The Old Path

He rounded the path they had walked together so many times before...there stood her favorite tree...she would always announce to anyone close by that "this was the most beautiful tree she had ever laid her eyes upon". She once got upset with me as she caught me moving my lips to those very words...the leaves glimmered and lay so quietly as the winds had long since fell away,still blustering and disturbing the birds from just over the heights. He walked as if late for an appointed rendevous. That's how it was before, he would stay late and pretend there was extra work to be done, she would leave the workplace as though she had to be somewhere...anywhwere but there. He finally got the nerve to ask her if a cup of tea would suit her one evening after the shift.She obliged and there began the convoluted and yet steady courtship that had lasted all of these years. They married eventually, though they really didn't notice a change of heart after the ceremony...they had fallen in love many years prior to the bouquet toss. Now here he was walking their beloved path by the river. She loved the sound of the watershed rushing over the rocks and through the grass....she always said that "this was her ocean " and that would make him smile...everytime.The path just wasn't the same now, he looked down and didn't see her dainty feet...her lovely curves...he didn't feel her soft, white hand carressing his. It's as though the artist had began the painting of a lifetime...and suddenly abandoned the canvas to the rain and wind.Gone were the anticipated gibes...the long pauses as we stared out across the river and past the valley on the other side. We always wondered why there was never a bridge...we just figured that kept our imaginations running wild; always wondering what it must be like across the river.He looks across the Harnel Bend and wonders if she just may be there looking at him from across the river...from another place perhaps, but she might just be there...watching me look for her.The mind-play wears his patience thin..realizing that his imagination get the best of him these days...warm streams fall from his face as he looks over his shoulder one last time...as if to say (this time) good-bye forever. He waits as if he might wake up and this is all a dream...just a sad, protracted dream brought on by a late supper.No. He didn't eat supper last night, She's not here ...and he walks slowly back up the old path...swearing that he'll never be back. But he will...because he knows that she is there, somewhere, waiting for him