Four of us, walking among the pines.
Tracing the forest paths. Killing time
As sunlight spangles the Moray Firth.
The thin trees creak when the east wind stirs.
The thin trees creak when the east wind stirs.
My heart is breaking. The children are bored.
Sunlight spangles. A thumb hits pause.
Everything returns to what it once was.
My wife and I have forgotten how to talk,
But there’s a fallen tree she wants to walk,
Tightrope-style. The children watch her:
Arms outstretched, a penitent martyr
To her Godly self. Careful not to fall.
Leaning into her freedom. Away from us all.
Out with the old, and in with the new.
Tiptoeing towards a harder truth
On the knotty trunk of a toppled conifer.
And I’ve never wanted or loved her more
Than now. But isn’t that always the way?
No more second chances. Too little, too late.
A penitent martyr trying out her new life.
My desolate ruin. My beautiful wife.
The thin trees creak, the east wind stirs.
My heart is breaking. The children are bored.
Journey complete, she springs from the tree.
I lower myself down onto one knee.
The thin trees creak, the gnarled roots groan.
We leave the tree and steer ourselves home.
The children bicker. All’s not lost.
Everything returns to what it once was.