Memory in Reverse

We used to walk through the maple grove, thickly coated with autumn leaves, the shallow imprints of her lanky body spotting the crisp ground. In summer she visited the creek on the western edge, always skirting the bank before pouncing into the calm tadpole pool. She enjoyed bounding through the meadow most, so vibrant with wildflowers in the spring, the earth wet enough beneath her feet to make tiny monuments to her joy. Now, walking alone on the sterile snow, I remember the love we shared. I think she would have wanted that, I think that was what she hoped.