We walked the lane in summer sun -
Burning our arms and faces.
Our backs soaked in sweat.
The tree’s shadows our only friend.

She turned to face me,
Her wavy brown hair,
Lifted in a sudden breeze -
Suspended on invisible wire.

The fields of ripened wheat,
Moving in concert with the wind.
Rippling away, these graceful dancers,
Bowing to the horizon.

I remember little of that day,
Just the heat of the afternoon,
The way her hair framed her face
And the golden fields as we parted.