Almost Nightfall

One couple, one afternoon.

Two eased from the sedan,
a blanket, a brimming wicker basket,
a pond filled with geese, the birds claiming the embankment.
At water’s edge, he spun the blanket outward and
the geese scattered, and the cloth descended in
an almost perfect square.
The valley’s familiar diversions, the white steeple a mile away,
copses scattered acres apart, poked above the low brush.
And with elbows propped in the afternoon heat, he
listened to the rustlings in the bramble
until the valley’s natural rhythms brought him sleep.
Awakened to the rustling of paper,
he watched her scatter bread crumbs when
she circled the water with goslings in tow as they
nuzzled at the bits of dough, an odd parade
until a goose made chase, and the dithered fowl
marched her brood away as the woman laughed
an undignified laugh in delight.
Alone, glasses descended from his furrowed brow,
he withdrew an envelope with elegant script holding
a Will of long luxurious parchment, and once perused,
extended to her on her return.
Her lined face turned away, skyward, the glorious heat warming,
much preferred above the chilling words.
Together, they sat until the day had cooled
and she wrapped herself in a thick sweater until
their shadows distorted as they relinquished the day.
He then guided her in the gloaming before the beams of light
bounced unpredictably in the irregular road.