Letters From Kay, Number 7 – The Leaves Found My Skin

My love,

The trees finally meant it. Overnight the yellow ones let go, and by afternoon the path was soft with them — maple, birch, the stubborn little oak leaves that sound like paper when you step wrong. I put on your flannel and nothing else and walked until the cabin was just a dark shape behind me. Bare feet. Cold toes. Worth it.

A leaf landed on my shoulder and stayed. Another in my hair. I didn’t brush them off. It felt like the mountain was trying to keep me company the only way it knows how.

I keep thinking about last October — how you pushed me up against that skinny pine just off the trail and kissed me like we had somewhere to be and absolutely no intention of getting there. Your flannel was on me then too. You got it open with one hand and laughed when a leaf stuck to my collarbone. Your mouth followed it. Then lower. I came with my back against the bark and my legs shaking and a whole flock of something exploding out of the canopy like they’d been waiting for the punchline.

I did it again today. Same stretch of trail. Same flannel half off. I sat on a flat rock with my knees open to the gold light and touched myself the way you like to watch — slow circle, then deeper, then the mean little pace that makes me swear at you even when you’re not here. Leaves kept falling on my thighs. I left them. When I came, I tipped my head back and the sky went soft and I said your name into the trees like they might forward the mail.

Walked home with my legs still humming. Your boots are still by the door. I lined my bare feet up next to them like a joke. Your side of the bed is still the colder one. I’m going to sleep in this flannel anyway. It smells like leaf smoke and you, which is a cruel combination when you’re three states away.

Come home while the mountain is still dropping gold. I want you on that trail. I want your hands where the flannel won’t stay. I want the next leaf to land on both of us.

Forever yours,

Kay

P.S. Your Booby Pillow has a maple leaf stuck to it like it went hiking. I left it. Temporary decoration. Your spot under this flannel is not up for seasonal bidding.