Oak

Their home was dark, except for the out reaching glow from the large stone hearth on the south side of the wall. Near the large flames sat a table for two. If four were dining a drop leaf would pull up on the one side and the good tablecloth would hide the seam.

A bench was fitted up to the wall next to the table and a few boxes for goods and storage hid beyond the reach of the warm glow. A tapestry of rich reds and floral design hung from the ceiling and politely hid the modest bed with ample spreads for comfort and warmth.

She sleeps next to the wall. He sleeps on the outside to protect her.

A rug, made with scraps at the end of past seasons, covered most of the floor. Rocking chairs for both sat in the middle of the rug facing the hearth. A small table with an oil-lamp is resting between the two chairs. The chair on the right has a few baskets of various sizes and shapes on the floor next to it. Strands of yarn and embroidery floss snakes out from a few tops. Random pin-cushions, scraps of material and scissors, one large the other small, were tossed in the others.

Next to his chair was a beautiful oak table. (She polished it every week.) When the fire roared with flames from the hearth, the wood shimmered like molten honey. A white crocheted doily lay flat like a large plate with a lamp in the middle. Old books, some with wisp of threads fraying from the edges of the cover, are stacked, no higher than three, in neat piles. His glasses folded, patiently waiting for when he would sit down in his rocker and read.

The kitchen is a quaint nook right of the hearth. A deep sink for dishes, a humble counter top for work, and shelves for both goods and utilities. There is a small pantry which leads through to the small back door.

The rest of their small hovel has minimal possessions. A book shelf to hold not only books but baskets full of necessities and treasures. A small table with another lamp was near the door under a square window. On the far wall, left to the hearth, was an unassuming door which leads to their bathroom.

She stood just over five feet, five three if she stood straight. Her body was plump in the middle but nothing unusual for a woman of her age. Her skin made up for it with very few wrinkles, unlike most women of her age.

He had been only an inch or two taller. His eyes had always been old and wise; their depth, unknown. He had long course hair that had been grey for many years. His beard of medium thickness matched his hair in color but not quite in length. He was larger than life.

Many nights, especially the long nights, they huddled under their blankets naked and warm. Tonight, like other special nights, under the guidance of the moon and stars, they slid quietly through their door and stepped into the woods.

With every barefooted step, their clothes shed to the forest floor. Their backs straighten and their skin stretches. Muscles lean and taut, frame their bones. Their hair flows free and thick, hers the color of the spring willows and his, the color of late winter oak leaves.

He grabs her hand and pulls her along as they run through the deep woods. He is guided by the moon and stars. He knows every step of these woods. He has played with them for many years. He recognizes the tall trees as friends he would climb when both were much younger. The roots now ripple throughout the floor. They like to trip strangers when they pass through. He is careful not to step on their toes.

He slows the race and the only sound in the dark night is their heavy breathing and the soft ripple of the creek. Naked, young, and vibrant he pulls her in close and holds her tight. She too is bare, youthful, and vital.

He leads her down the mossy embankment to the small ledge by the stream. Together they lay down under the protection of the old Oak. The musty smell of the loam intoxicates them both. Oak keeps watch over them under the night sky.

The sun is lighting the horizon with the earliest of her beams when they walk dreamily back up the path. They smile quietly as their backs arc and their muscles loosen. Thin hair is brittle and faded once again. She gathers up their clothes along the path closer to their home.

Inside, he takes the two rockers and sits them just outside the front door next to the planted marigolds. He grabs her favorite purple shawl and his wool sweater. She comes out with two mugs of steaming coffee. She places them down on the bench and he wraps her up in the shawl. She helps him with the silver buttons on his sweater.

They sit in their rockers, hers on the right and his on the left. Sipping their coffee, they quietly watch as a new day awakes.