Touch

I think I know each line and curve of this neighborhood. Where the sidewalks end. Rosebushes beside wagon wheels, as they have been for years. The row of cedars. Square rocks like enormous buck teeth hanging over the roadside. Feathery Japanese split maples and a heart-leaf tree that shivers in the breeze.

Still.

This night, which would have been black by now just a few short months ago, is barely grey pearl, misty over the river. I run past the white ranch only to see in spring's new light... a garland tree. That's what I want to call this lovely sight. Flowers hang, clustered in feathery lengths 'midst tiny green leaves. Like bridal garlands I've seen at so many Indian weddings. Tokens of love draped over my path.

And.

Someone has planted posies. Yellow marigolds at the bare edge of a lawn.

I thought I knew each line and curve of this neighborhood. Each line and curve of You. My heart leaps up. You touch me. Unexpected. Delight.