Alone

A single ant marches purposefully Along rivulets of moss Like external arteries Clinging to weathered bricks

She watches in stillness and silence No longer a slave to time Simply no other place to be Nowhere to feel needed

Her place is here for eternity An orchard of trees in September Bearing their favourite fruit A reminder of a shared lifetime

Leaves flutter against autumn’s breath Wordless, papery voices that reassure She is never to be alone Despite not conversing for days

A withered frame to reach no more She can only imagine the taste The wind befriends her And places offerings at her feet

She stoops to retrieve her prize Her spit and apron as polish She fetches a knife and two plates A habit never to be broken

A few moments before bliss She is unable to mask Her sorrow at the apple’s sheen Against gnarled arthritic hands

Laying the plates before her She is still for a moment Waiting; then a familiar presence Her soul awakens and takes flight

She feels him steady her hand As she cuts through the skin and flesh She hears him whisper on the wind And finds comfort in her tears