Hue

i remember walking through the mist
where it hung heavy above the darkened river,
and sodden ochre leaves slept crimsoned
and resplendent beneath our booted feet.
i stopped to take pictures of raindrops caught
on the fronds of wine-tipped scales,
and the slash of bold green
where bridge sides masked
the stream of coots gliding beneath us.
i let you walk ahead
so i could record your presence
because it made the beauty of that place
even greater.
then later when we hung our damp coats
and warmed our hands with mugs of tea
i sat and looked, and you looked at me.