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"the word unwritten" SoundByte

Osage knelt by the fire to throw another brittle branch into the pyre of their sputtering tryst and stretched for a pine cone to scent their immanent division along the slobbering lines that Mason drew into Dixon. Caisson wretched silently beside her, then shuffled through slimly shorn and parched field grass on floodcakes autumn had abandoned to mold in crusted snow.

"Lie with me here now," he called from winter's widened beach hovering into sheets of ice crackling as they jousted on the river's sullen flow to freezes of the north.

"I'll be an icicle," she protested.

"Not for long," he deduced in desire's bated breath heaving from his chest, sweating along the fall lines of rapid departure soon to the frontiers of distant's war.

Osage tumbled, shivering, down the slickly frosted embankment. Glistening from starshine, it clung to her clothes.

Caisson looked up, blinking into the lights.

"Time to make merry 'round the tree," he teased.

Osage, arms high to grasp the moons of Jupiter, two-stepped on shattered shells and crumpled onto his waist.

"I'm not undressing," she warned.

"Uh-huh." Caisson brushed auburn strands onto her neck. "That will be challenging."

There's almost always, he noted reflectively, a tantalizing pause while I'm scripting where I'm sure this line is going nowhere from a boat dead in the water.

Osage eased comfortingly into his ribs, entwining his legs with long slides smoothing moments into their paired tomorrow.

"We can do anything," she promised the hush astonished at the seconds agape waiting for the word perfectly pronounced to adjoin them into the beat and sound of timeless tethered to a rhyme undefinably them.

"Why didn't Jesus write anything down? Surely he was literate." Caisson drew a breath contentedly along the river's cycle unending.

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"The way of the Cross is not easy, yet it is the tuneful, the rhythmic, the beautiful, the lovely way."
-- Edgar Cayce, Association for Research and Enlightenment

Original material c. A Country Rag, Inc. and/or Jeannette Harris, Jonesborough Tennessee, January 2016. All rights reserved.