Gently

Gently

In the early morning before the light all the time the rain kept falling.
In the streets the puddles gathered strength.
Gently, the rain made silent the steady hum of the still living city.

In the gray dawn two brothers slipped across the dew wet field, sliding in behind wood line at the base of the rising hill.
Steady, in the morning fog, spears in hand, they crept within striking distance of the stags herd. 

The train seemed far off in the distance as I lay awake in bed. 
Deep in the winter night, sleep came slowly.  In the eye of my mind I could touch the darkness of the house.
Beyond the doorway I could hear the crackle of the fire and soft sound of muffled voices.

Standing there her hair was long and beautiful. 
Her eyes a deep brown.
Gently, the shadows in the field were rising out beyond the valley as the evening began to chill. 

The storm broke just before the mid-morning break.
Out in the sound for a long time white caps continued to stir.
In the distance one lone row boat began to cross the rippled water.
Beyond you could see the vast line of timber stretching back into the open valley bending outwards towards the frontier.

By noon the heat had become unbearable.
We called it quiets, sweating, as we lounged in the willow trees shade, letting the breeze evaporate the moisture from other dirty brows.

Late in the afternoon the rocks were slippery under our bare feet. 
I almost lost my footing and fell into the cool steam.
If you looked you could see the big trout in the deeper pools- just a hint of murky movement, a slight shimmer of moving light.
She rolled her pants up so that I saw her white smooth legs. 
I nearly flipped but instead just smiled afraid of the unknown.
So afraid of the those soft legs.
So afraid of gently losing my love, into that sweet sorrowful field of lasting desolation