*Norah*
In a way he does. Holding hands, we walk and talk… safe subjects all. Books we've read, people we've known. He tells me about the vaqueros who came up from Mexico each spring to help his father drive the cattle north. I share stories about the men who visit my father's saloon.
Then he surprises me by taking me on a journey through his memory of all the happy times. I can almost hear his father's laughter, feel the warmth of his mother's embrace, the gentle teasing of an older brother tolerant of the younger ones who tagged after him. Within River's voice, I hear the longing for what he once possessed, surprisingly never taken for granted, and the acceptance that it will never come to pass again.
As twilight shadows begin to chase away the heat of the day, I stand beside a tree,
