On an impulse today, I hopped in my car and

drove a short distance away to a private park

that Nat loved very much.

On a bluff two hundred feet above the lake,

we'd walk the winding brick paths through

beds of tended plants and flowers;

their scents intoxicating with each breath intake.

A canopy of ancient trees, oak and maple,

spruce and pine and others undefined, save for

serpentine branches resembling the arms of

exotic dancers -- delicate and fine.

We'd find a shaded bench and sit, sometimes

for hours, just watching butterflies and honey bees

shop among the flowers. A spectacle of colour,

only nature could provide in this eden-esque

emplacement, divorced from the city side.

Almost total silence, even voices whispered low,

and the sounds of birds occasioned when

a scattered breeze might blow from off the lake

so far below -- where breaking waves fell silent

on the shore.

We'd walk again and Nat would stand

against the fence, just inches from the receding

bluff, held temporarily in place by

tangled growth -- just not enough but there

she'd lean, eyes filled with pleasure, watching

a tiny solitary sail inhale the wind that drove it across

the glistening water.

Time seemed arrested in this splendid solitude,

stressful demands dissipated, the mind was

rendered nude, leaving room for only the pleasure

of the senses.

She'd pause and smell a rose, eyes closed

and a smile displaying ecstasy, then take my arm

and rest her head, bringing happiness and comfort

to me as we found our way along the paths

to where we'd take our leave.

All these moments passed through my head

as I sat and watched with glistening eyes,

other couples sharing what we once knew

in this magical location, where I try to reprise

those golden moments, before last goodbyes.

It was an impulse, as I said, no rhyme or reason

to be had, but the experience was healing and perhaps

my mind just knew that this time, that place and season,

was something I was meant to do.