walking the line

in the grassy field

under the solitary tree

lacking leaves

the picnic table sat unpainted

and heavy

as was the heart

near where the warm red wine

could be seen spilled on the ground.

a fine crystal goblet laid still

on its’ side

where a crack could be seen spreading

under the afternoon sun,

and alongside was 

a soft piece of homemade bread

with the visible imprint of a once hungry hand.

in the distance,

voices from a close river,

a motor,

ruins which once held a small cabin,

and the faint traces of a natural spring

where a willow hangs slender branches and weeps,

as do many willows.

a child walks past with a quick glance at the table,

and his eyes immediately refocus on a faint trail

which leads into the woods

and there he disappears with an audible sigh.