The air this summer morning
is already warm, and a soft breeze
greets me as I step out the door,
after yet another dreamless night.

I walk through the early mist,
weaving dense webs over the fields.
Birds are singing, welcoming the day,
the moon still a silhouette in the blue sky.

My steps are silent on the grassy path,
my heart, in contrast, beats aloud
as I move slowly toward the forest,
where ancient trees look down on me.

I keep on walking.

The closer I get, the more silent
my surroundings become.
My rapid breathing turns
to fog, as grass begins
to mix with ice-covered moss.

I keep on walking.

There, between the trees,
I see a shining light—
so bright it almost blinds me,
but I do not avert my eyes.

I keep on walking.

At last, I see your form—
standing between the elder trees,
your feet barely touching the ground,
your hand outstretched, inviting me.

Your lips speak my name—
or is it only the whispering wind?

Our hands touch.
You still feel warm to my skin.
Though snow falls around us,
I do not feel the cold.

We dance in the ascending sun
floating in an almost eternal embrace.
I am lost in your presence once more,
and I know I must be careful—
not to get lost here completely.

When the sun has risen fully,
I know it’s time for us to part again.
You must leave, and I cannot follow,
though your eyes beckon me to come.

As always, I hesitate,
letting go of your hand too slowly,
placing a kiss on your fragile fingers
before I finally turn away.

And I keep walking.

Walking back—
where birds sing again,
and the scent of linden blossoms
and golden grain fills the air.

I know I must not turn around,
but ever so carefully,
I glance over my shoulder—
back to the forest, back to the elder trees,
back to your fading face.

The corner of your lips curls into a sad smile,
and you dissolve into a thousand butterflies.

I wish I could go with you,
but it is not my time—
not yet.

“I will find you again,” I whisper,
“But for now, I must
keep walking—
on my own.”