By Dianne Moritz

One August day
they drive out
to the country.
The wind rustles
her hair up, softly
slapping her face.
She laughs, pins
it back with both hands,
warm air tickling her arms.
He drives on – silent.

Suddenly …
she sees a couple
Running hand-in-hand
through a distant field,
and, like an eager puppy,
her mind races after them.

“I write to capture indelible moments in time.” – the writer

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