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November 22, 2003 ~ Fading Light
Saturday.
Racing down the path, laughing with each other, trying to reach the open brush before the sun sank behind the ridge, stopping for a moment on the bridge over the water, then racing on again. We came to the open brush as the sun disappeared behind the ridge, hearts pounding.
The winter bushes and grasses of Graveyard Fields are surprisingly diverse in color. Winter, the time of brown, yet the land here is vibrant--green and brown and gold and tan grasses cover the landscape, bare deciduous bushes with their white bone-like branches poke up out of the grass, bright red brambles and maroon woody plants highlight contours in the land, a rusty prairie plant grows in clumps, and the evergreen rhododendrons and mountain laurels stand together in groves.
We quickly left the trail for a wildlife track through the grasses, no longer laughing, quiet and awed by the land. The high points radiated the warmth of the sun, but the lower drainage crevices were like ice. They brought out goosebumps on my arms, a chill in my fingers. We walked quickly through one of these crevices until we came to a stand of rhododendrons, where the air was slightly warmer.
Exploring the grove, I stopped under a large rhododendron, on a bed of soft lichens and grasses. Morgan sought me out and, taking my hand, fell into me. Warmth against his chest, light fading, urgency, chilled breezes against skin, grasses in his hair, leaves and sky reflected in his eyes.
We left the grove after the sun set, Venus bright on the horizon, Mars red overhead, hurrying back through the grasses, down the rocks, over the bridge. Chilled fingers. Talk of destiny and faith and letting go of control.
Dinner at the Italian restaurant where he works, fireworks downtown, exploding overhead, the shocks trembling in my chest. Holiday lights. Heading home, peaceful, full.
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