She's in earth green and he's in air goldenrod as they step through the budding signs of spring in a pace all of their own. He sees the small hills and picks up the scent of dewdrops and feels something strikingly familiar and frighteningly new and thinks back to the first time he took off on his glider from atop of a mountain. His skin tingles and he realizes it's because she's intertwining her hand with his and he's certain his face is betraying every thought he is having.
The wind sends down a blaze of pedals spilling toward them and she laughs as it all flows between them and he laughs too because she's pulling him closer to hide with him and because he possibly couldn't have done it better himself.
As the wind gentles, she looks to him and he wonders what to say and, fleetingly, if there will ever be a time her blue eyes will stop sparkling, just before she smiles and pulls away and he watches her delightfully twirl under the storm of snowing pedals. And he thinks, as she stops her smile at him, that he'll never know when to land again, and when she grins and throws a handful of leaves at him and he laughs and chases after her, that he'll probably never know what to say because, because beauty never really needed words.