Morning mist
still clung
to the cedars.
We walked.
One reached
through the brambles
for a wildflower,
answering
every birdcall.
One read
the changing light
on distant hills,
and followed
the path
underfoot.
Between them,
someone
neither young nor old
held the space
wide enough
for wonder,
keeping pace
so neither
walked alone.
I turned.
Only a single set
of footprints,
disappearing
into the mist.
