Solace

It was her habit

to seek solace in the woods,

run through the ramsons

so the smell of fresh garlic

filled her lungs,

lie with the bluebells

looking up at the newly unfurled

bright green beech leaves.

To bathe her face 

and hands

in noisy cold streams.

The first time she embraced him

she could feel his strength,

his silence spoke to her.

She stripped,

pressed herself against him,

moved her body against his.

Sated, she curled up

in the tangle of nightshade 

that grew amongst his roots.