He told her he was going hiking to catch a glimpse of September blooms. She knew the route like the back of her hand. Many times, they hiked to the vantage point where the Tatarian maple stood giving shades for resting and ground for play.
She remembered how he laughed at her impractical hiking dress code: sports cap, sundress and hiking boots. In her mischievous mind, she knew that was the perfect outfit. It was proven by all the passionate moments under that tree.
She couldn’t go hiking with him anymore for he was no longer her man, physically, anyway. But both of them knew, they always went hiking together. The moment he took a rest under the Tatarian maple, she was there just like many times before. It was hard to focus on the fresh spring flowers when his nostril was filled with her slightly moist scent from perspiration.
She was having a cup of earl grey on the daybed under the warm sun, taking a break from reading. Her mind wandered to him. She sensed that he was sitting with his back against the trunk of that maple, drinking mineral water. She could see the movement of his Adam’s apple. That’s usually the time she would agilely climb on his lap, lifting, then scattering her sundress for cover. He would never refused her, always gave her every ounce of himself in exchange of watching the satisfaction on her face while she parading over him like a peacock.
Sometimes, they wished their connection was broken when they parted ways. And some times, they secretly, earnestly gravitated towards each other, specially in Spring, a season of everything grows.
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