1.

At the end of the forest is the beginning of us. Birds of every kind chirp in stereophonic symphony in melodies we understand, not through our ears alone, but in our souls. We’ve spent time in this place, a sanctuary of refuge for our love, an oasis of nature among dense foliage, this green kingdom of fern and bush. The morning bouquet of the woods around us whispers an aroma of fragrant bliss, and my heart can’t remember a sweeter time.

I begin with a kiss, a soft petting of the lips on hers, melting into her world, her heart. “These past several days with you have been a dream,” I say, the touch of my hand caressing her face like the tender brush of silk. “Like I’m lost in a dream, and every moment I wake up, I find myself there again.”

“This is the moment we say goodbye,” she says sadly, “isn’t it?”

“If I could stay I would,” I acquiesce, my heart breaking with every syllable I speak. “I want nothing more than to be with you and have you near me, just like this. Just like this weekend.”

“Don’t tell me you want to see me again,” she says with melancholy woven through her words, her voice. “I know it’s impossible. I only want to hear that you love me. Over and over again.”

“I do,” I smile. “A billion times I do.” My lips press to hers in velvet softness and the forest around us envelopes us with its magical blanket, the warmth of summer, the touch of love.

2.

As snowflakes tapped against the window pane in meditative rhythms and rhymes, stormy winds outside howled like wolves on a hunt. Tall pines swung in the blizzard like drunken seafarers on a voyage to snowy depths as powdery drifts lifted and swirled and danced to a chaotic cadence. In the distance, snow-peaked mountains watched over the violent storm like sentries at their posts, knowing all too well that the cold, unrelenting winter had brought its most stalwart onslaught this season.

But in the midst of the squall, there was a fire. It burned strong and bright and hot and made us forget that a storm raged beyond the stone and log walls of our private lodge. More than that, my love for her stirred so deeply within me that it warmed that place in both of our hearts where the fire couldn’t touch and the storm couldn’t enter.

Sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, I leaned back on the couch, slipped my hand around her waist, and gazed into her eyes. She lay on top of me and with one hand around my neck and the other sliding up my silk shirt, she said, “Kiss me again.” And I did, and it was lovely. Slow, sweet, and delicious, like a creamy cup of hot cocoa.

I had the feeling that we could have stayed that way forever, our lips allied to the other in their euphoric sway. “I want nothing to spoil this moment,” she said with her breath on mine like cinnamon spice. “We’ve traveled so far to get to this place. Couldn’t we stay one more night?”

It was true. We had traveled long, weary miles to get here, but we had never given up. We knew we’d find this place and we eventually did. The fire that warmed our bodies was nothing compared to the one that now warmed our souls.

“One more night,” I replied, “and an eternity after that.”

3.

There is a haven of love by the river I know. It is a place where languid waves of cool, refreshing water douse rugged rocks; where currents glide downstream with effortless ease; and where the gentle purr of babbling brooks meets the fortitude of rushing rapids. The surrounding forest is a sinfonietta of trills and warbles, the serenade of the heart.

I stoop down by the river to the place I remember so well. The sun is warm on my face but I remember it being more shaded then. I sit on the grass, close my eyes, and recall that day. She could not have looked lovelier. A gold dress accentuating her wavy blonde hair. Black lace trim. Silk. Must have been silk. Yet it wasn’t the dress I was after, but the one wearing it.

I spread out my long coat on the grass and, taking her gently by the hand, lowered her to her back on top of it. I swear I saw diamonds and all sorts of glimmering stars behind her enchanting stare.

“Make love to me,” she breathed, her chest rising and falling with every beat of my heart.

I don’t know why I hesitated. I suppose we are all reluctant to dive in head-first into something so wonderful that we are afraid of ruining it, like spoiling the masterpiece by adding one more stroke of the brush to the painting. But I knew I couldn’t resist much longer, and when our lips met, I felt the universe pull me into a vacuum of space and time where the only thing in the world that existed was our genuine love for each other, now given free rein to run wild. And wild it ran. While the river flowed over jagged rocks, our love flowed in glorious expression. With fervent heat that drove our senses, we reached greater elevations of ecstasy without ever leaving the grassy ground, moaning and writhing in tune with the current.

When it was over, we kissed and held each other and kissed some more.

“Promise me one thing,” she spoke as birds sang in trees above us.

“I’ll promise you the whole world and more,” I said, nibbling at her neck.

“Just do this,” she said, “and it will mean the world to me.”

“Anything.”

“That we’ll never come back here in our lifetime,” she said. “This is the way I want us to remember this place. With the river, with you. Our own sacred haven.”

“I promise you,” I said, kissing her full ruby lips again, and as she lay back, we made more memories of love and euphoria.

Now as I slide my aged fingers gently over the grassy ground, I open my eyes and dream of the memories that have stayed with me all these years. She has been gone for three years now, and just for once, if only for one day, I wanted to feel her presence again.

Just as my heart feels pangs of sadness tugging at the old memory, a warm breeze interrupts my thoughts and green leaves dance. And I smile knowingly. If I close my eyes again, I am certain I will hear her voice in the wind. The loveliest voice I have ever known and ever will know, simply saying, “I forgive you.”

4.

Sometimes if you listen closely and very attentively, and observe not with your eyes but with your heart, you can find love in the early hours of the morning on the lake. That was how it happened for Scarlet Bergamot. The serene philharmonic of calls and chirps from sparrows and larks welcomed the day, and the water that lapped the sides of their row boat was a flat surface of tranquility extending to the horizon. There the sun was timidly peaking over mountain tops, like a gentleman not wanting to disturb the early risers, and was spreading its golden rays over an amethyst sky. The natural reflection of the sunrise in the water rippled away from the boat as it silently floated over the vast surface.

The one rowing the boat held the oars like an expert and her eyes like a lover. “So my turn,” he said, flashing a precarious grin.

She raised an eyebrow and waited in anticipation for his question, feeling her heart rate surge at the thought. Since their date last night in which he had prepared dinner for her at his lake house, they had given each other the opportunity to ask one question, whatever they wanted, no holds barred. Back and forth the questions went, like smacking volleys in table tennis, until they were both spent and had found themselves with bared souls as well as bodies. She hadn’t imagined he would continue their question escapade the next morning, but she was game, sensing his wit behind the gesture.

“Ask away,” she said.

“How do you know if you’re in love?” he asked with the sparkle of the sunrise in his eyes.

She cocked her head flirtatiously as the sound of the oars moving through the water soothed her beating heart. “In general, or how do I know if I’m in love?”

“If you’re in love.”

The question took her breath away. Had she ever been in love? She had never trusted anyone, pushing away one guy after another so that her heart could never be exposed. She was a play-it-safe girl, taking few risks in the love department. But now… he was different, and she was in love.

Turning around the starboard side of the boat, she slipped a foot into the lake, feeling the cold water envelope her bare foot.

“I do it like this,” she explained. “One foot at a time. And if I’m in love, I dive in all the way. Only I’m scared that I might drown.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said as softly as the lapping waves against the wooden hull.

“Why not?” she asked, turning back around to face him, meeting his gentle eyes, blues that she could be lost in forever.

“I’ll catch you, Scarlett Bergamot,” he said with steel confidence. “I promise.”

5.

That morning, sunlight was a tender friend, touching her eyes with light kisses, like soft lips over closed eyelashes. One kiss to the right, another to the left. Before opening them, she inhaled long and slow, letting her breasts rise and fall like a calm ocean tide. Allowing time to have no mastery over her, she allowed her senses to take in the morning one slow breath at a time. The warmth of the room enveloped her like a blanket of love, while winter’s spite excoriated the window panes with a frost from outside that was denied passage. Smoke from the dying embers of the fireplace ascended the brick chimney in silent vigil, and chirps from morning songs in the forest outside calmed her soul.

As she thought of him and felt her heart lifting once again like the clouds over a brilliant sunrise, a smile graced her face. He was still in her thoughts, in her dreams that night, and in her heart that morning. The scent of him still lingered on the quilt that covered the couch where they had made love the night before.

Theirs was a wild romance from the start. He was the loner with the black cowboy hat pulled low over his brow, with his back turned to her, his jeans showing off assets she appreciated in a man. On their first meeting, he was gazing into a corral of horses, leaning over the wooden fence, his mind concentrated and centered. Later he taught her the difference between a canter and a gallop and the two of them rode trails through the snow, even on harsh January days.

But that was just the beginning. Before long, like wild horses, their attraction for each other could not be reined in, and a week of kissing and wanting led to an evening of wine and country dancing, capped off with lovemaking at her cabin in the woods. What followed was a passionate relationship of love and war, of tenderness and fighting, of loving affection and contentious arguments.

Then one hot date at her cabin. There was cuddling by the fire, drinking cabernet sauvignon, and tasting it on his lips. The heat that ensued between them was greater than the flames in the fireplace, and wrapped in a thick quilt, they found each other’s intoxication and stayed there until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning she awoke to find him gone. Only a note was left on her kitchen table: “Be back soon for you. I promise.”

He had left her life without a trace, not telling anyone where he had gone, leaving her to believe that his note was a lie.

Months passed and he had still not come back. Spring flowers bloomed and wilted as summer yielded to autumn and a new year approached. Snow blanketed the ground again and she had all but given up hope for his return.

But one day, out of the blue, there was a knock on her door. That was last night.

She smiled and turned from the window, allured by the aroma of fresh coffee beans, finding him standing in the doorway to her kitchen. He was wearing a loose-fitting robe, sipping a cup.

His strong, affectionate voice let her know she had not made a mistake in waiting for this day. “Breakfast is ready, my love,” he simply said.