IN THE LEAVES

You said, "I want you to try something new, to see things in a different way,..."
Under the autumn colors of Seventies' celluloid, you tied this dark fabric across my eyes and amazed me. I could hear every whisper. The sound of your kisses so close to my ear. I could hear the wind whistle through the trees. Swirling wind, rippling and ebbing like water all around us. I could hear your footsteps crushing the leaves as you lead me deep into the trees. I remember the fear I felt when my grip first slipped. I was staggering. Blind. How quickly those little bony twigs became jagged thorns. How long it took to find an open space where I wasn’t snagged on some needy branch, or scraping skin off on some obtuse rock. But, like some game, I wouldn’t take off the blindfold. I swore I could hear you giggling, saying my name,.. so I followed the crunching of leaves.
I cannot bring myself to open my eyes, even though it’s been days since the blindfold was snatched away, leaving my face wet and sticky. I’m too afraid of leaving this little clearing where I last heard your whispers. Even though I flinch as the first snowflakes touch down upon my closed eyes like burning coals, I still cannot look. Because the last time the wind kicked up a swirl of skeletal leaves-- chattering like teeth-- I swore I heard your footsteps again. Only this time they were walking away.