Our Walk, Tanya Platten

Our walk along the Colne’s waters seemed strange, then, strangely not. You were there again no longer a memory. You waved; I breathed you in and you smiled.

We greeted the other walkers near the Wharf; our eyes flickered over each other like the water flies that jumped and bounced lightly on the river.

The uneven ground forced us into each other often as we picked our way over well walked paths; careful around puddles.

We laughed at the changes and the rotting boats. Never far from each other it seemed; circling, rustling in waterproofs like the reeds in the river.

Sometimes the path forced us into single file where you would stop to point out landmarks that we all knew but you told us more. You shared memories with me like you wanted me to see again and I did. I wanted you to hold my hand like before but the weather had other ideas. Black skies and unexpected rain forced us under the canopy of a tree. ‘This tree,’you said, looking at me,’has stood fast, seen many things, and it will take care of us again.’ You promised. I liked that.

Goodbye was again at the red boat. I ached from walking and longing. I watched you leave without you seeing and you left without looking back.
I return to the river often in my dreams looking for you because I was the one who left.