At the edge of the field

We are getting quieter with each other, the more we feel the more hesitant we are to feel it, for fear it's fleeting maybe, or fear of scaring the deer of our hearts from the field's edge, tails high. Let them graze in the soft summer sunset, no threat of fast movement, only the slow approach of night's blanket and a warm bed of leaves. Only the sweetness of a kiss on the forehead or the small bone on the inside of the ankle, and a gaze held in low light, searching, an unspoken question, knowing the answer, looking away because it can't be voiced yet. Knowing the next time you lock eyes your heart will race and you will breathe deep and smile.

Christie Flemming