Walking the fields gathering evergreen and vine
remembering how we’d wander directionless
picking flowers and sticks to feed the hungry stove and whatever else caught our eye.
We’d fall to the ground after a while as two animals out wandering should
easy in our bodies.
How you’d quiet the demands of the world.
Together we’d lay there, letting the almost-winter wind lick us.
Instead of running indoors, letting our eyes dance over all the brown and changing things.
My eyes mostly dancing over golden you.
Yours playing back centuries of wild fox tales behind eyes that glowed with a knowing beyond your years.
And now I weave and walk and remember, wrapping memories of you around me like bronzed amulets warding off the reality of your physical absence away from mine, like a thick fur sheath protecting me from another season without you.
I walk and weave and remember so I don’t ever forget my babies dancing together out beyond the sun.
Tiffany Narron 
your words have an atmospheric ‘blue’ your heart too? WHOOPS gotta get to Jemiamah’s by two!nn
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There is such a mystical quality to blue. As poet Maggie Nelson says, “the blue of the sky depends on the darkness of empty space behind it. As one optics journal puts it, “The color of any planetary atmosphere viewed against the black of space and illuminated by a sunlike star will also be blue.” In which case blue is something of an ecstatic accident produced by void and fire.”
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