This is PG-13, so I don't feel the need for the 18 and over 
comments. However, this is copyrighted to me, rights reserved,
and all that jazz. If you like it and want it, please email
me for discussion. As usual, comments are grovelled for.
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Ocean Mist
By Dryad

It was chilly, even for March. She shifted the backpack over
her shoulder, cold making it ache more than usual. She cupped
her bent fingers and brought them to her mouth, thankful for the
puffs of warm air. The lack of sun didn't help, but it was
important to do this properly--at sunrise.

Almost there.

The trail ahead rose up considerably. Gulls and cormorants
swooped in the salt-teased mist, waking to the half-light of
dawn. She trudged up the steep incline, as she had done with him
hundreds, no, thousands of times before. It was their place.

She could see the salt mist roses at the base of the rise. 
Their bare, thorny canes had just begun to blush with the early
spring sap. She blushed once too, many Springtimes ago. She
smiled. He used to pick big bunches of the pink and white
blooms, presenting them to her with a flourish. He would pick
off the petals and shower her unclothed body with them. Salt
mist roses. She used to blush anytime she smelled them. Her
cheeks warmed. Maybe she could still blush. She closed her eyes,
fighting back a tear. Perhaps it was too soon.

A gust curled the mist against her cheek, waking her back to
the present. She tucked a loose strand of salt and pepper hair
behind her ear. A wooden bench, crackled and worn from weather,
still marked the zenith overlooking the sound. She tugged on the
backpack making sure it was secure. Looking over the edge, she
could see the pink granite jumbling down, the large boulders
creating a set of giant's stairs leading to the tidal pools.

They had chased each other on the boulders, hopping from one to
the other, balancing on the precipices. Once, she had fallen. A
misjudgment that landed her in the frigid waves. Her clothes had
gotten soaked down to her skin, outlining her nipples. She
remembered how the sight had affected him. Now the memory drew
her hand to her breast, surprised at its puckered response.

She sat, snuggling the backpack against her side. Absently, she
rubbed her shoulder and looked out over the water to the
changing sky. The mist danced, weaving here and there, yet not
eclipsing her view of the sunrise. The lighthouse out in the
sound flashed its light, and it made her smile.

The sky changed; grew. Layers of teal and turquoise turned to
pale lavender and pink. The sun peeked over the horizon and the
sky changed again, this time to orange. It reminded her of the
Tequila Sunrises they used to drink. Finally, the sun pushed its
way into the sky, bleaching the color from its canvas.

"It's time." 

His voice. In her head. She wasn't ready but she listened. She
picked up the pack and slowly made her way down to the largest
boulder jutting out into the sound. The same one she'd fallen
off when they were young.

The climbing took longer, her body refusing to do the same
things it had done when she was twenty or even forty. She crept
along the tumbled rocks, still familiar after so many years,
until she reached the edge of the water-worn boulder. She closed
her eyes. The cold salt spray kissed her face, and she shivered.

Carefully, she opened up the pack. She reached inside and
pulled out a simple wood box, her first anniversary present.
He'd carved it himself, with roses on the lid. She raised her
hand to test the wind. The chill of the air wrapped around her,
stalling her. But only for a moment. She removed the top and the
wind stirred the dust, lifting it up and spreading it over the
waves.

 "Goodbye, my love." She whispered into the mist. It didn't
take long. She strained to see the last of the dust as the
breeze carried it away. When there was nothing left, she
remembered the box. Her worn fingers traced along the rose
before carefully returning it to her pack. Huddling over her
pack, she felt something on her neck, a warm breath. She
straightened. There was nothing but the dawn's swirling mist.


But he was there.

She suddenly warmed. The swirling mist swaddled her. The swirls
were visible against her arm, her cheek, her breast. She closed
her eyes and smelled salt roses. She felt the warmth around her,
touching her, caressing all the places he would pay special
attention to. The scent grew stronger and she felt the warmth
against her lips, a whisper soft touch of goodbye. She raised
her hand to her lip, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears in
the morning light. She looked out over the sound.

And she smiled.

Copyright Dryad (gbbjg@yahoo.com) 2004
More stories at /~Dryad/contents.html