Beside the river, they met within the shade of the old oak.
With huge limbs hanging low over the sloping bank, its trunk towered toward the sky, leaving small spaces that allowed sunlight to flicker and dance within the lush, cool grass against bare feet. They spread the hand-stitched quilt, shaking its blue, green, red, and yellow patchwork in the spring-scented afternoon air, sharing smiles.
With slow steps, they hesitated onto the inviting softness, where they sank, embracing.
He’d never known such as she.
She’d never known such as he.
Neither knew if he’d return from war.
j willis sanders 