The night drew on.
Darkness descended like a quilt and lay softly, a breeze gently rustling among the leaves that soon would carpet the ground in their Autumn beauty.
The view from the window revealed a world slowly disappearing into a shadowless gloom.
Restless, he turned away from the scene beyond the shutters, lost in his thoughts, his mind wandering down the hallways of his home.
As he thought of her.
No rare pieces of art, no beautiful treasures of antiquity adorned any room. Never throughout his life had such things ever been of any concern to him at all.
All his years he had lived simply. He had what he needed and no more. In fact, any more, had he the opportunity to escape to the mountains, the rivers, the forests, that’s where he could be found.
Or not found.
He smiled.
He felt himself the forest, and she the trees. Her the stars, he the sky.
“Heavens need romance, love never dies,” he whispered, trying to mimic Willie Nelson’s soft, low voice.
All sentimental love songs seemed written for them, somehow drew her closer to him.
He returned to the window.
The moon had risen and appeared caught for a moment among the branches of the trees.
Could she also see the moon? Was she at this moment thinking of him as he was thinking of her? Could love somehow be felt reflected to the moon and back?
Did she know how much he loved her?
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