Picnic Table in Kin Coulee

They sat at a table, weathered and wide, Under cottonwood branches, side by side. The July sun filtered through leaves like lace, Softening time, and softening space. Years had passed—some sharp, some kind— Each carried stories, heavy with time. But here they were, two hearts grown old, Still warm, still curious, still untold. She smiled at him through lines of grace, Brushing hair from her wind-swept face. “Tell me,” she said, with a quiet sigh, “Why did we break up? Please tell me why.” He blinked, then chuckled, slow and low, “I honestly… don’t even know. Maybe fear, or maybe pride, Or just the ache of growing wide.” He spoke of work, of quiet nights, She spoke of love, of wrongs and rights. But in the hush between each thought, A closeness bloomed they never sought. “Coffee dates sometime?” she asked at last, Letting the moment not rush past. “Maybe supper too,” he said, eyes bright, “Some evening when the stars feel right.” And nothing more was planned that day, Except to let the past give way. To something small, and sweet, and true— A second chance beneath the blue. Scott W.