Laura and Jill drove up Highway 238, turned into Red Lily’s driveway, parked side by side under the shady crimson-leaved maples, and stood facing each other under the blue October sky.
Soft music drifted over from the barn, enveloping them as they walked down to the river.
The Applegate reflected the almost perfectly still colorful foliage and the red umbrellas that shelter the picnic tables on the beach.
As the wind picked up and the sun started to hide between the clouds, the brazier next to the farmtable invited them in to warm up.
Her soft, yellow leather coat competed with the dark-lemon colored leaves of the poplar near the patio.
Soft jazz tunes, closer now, filled the space between them.
When Laura had moved from Hawaii, she stood on the bridge under the waterfall where the red leis floated down towards the ocean.
She took off her coat and draped it across the back of the chair, carelessly, like a snake shedding its skin.
The purple strand of hair was tucked behind her ear trying to escape to freedom.
‘It’s wonderful to see you again, after so many years, at our favorite vineyard, in the fall. I still remember how we met.
Hiking Poet 