It was the way her skirt moved as she stood in the creek and the way the light shone off her hair. That was what he remembered about her.

Six years had passed since that summer.

She had since moved to Manhattan. He stayed in the quiet town. The memories fueled him, the safety. The shadows the willow trees cast on the streets.

But she was returning. Her father was ill. She was leaving her urban life to come home. Home to the town with the shady trees and hazy skies.

He knew she had changed. The city life robbed her of her free spirit. He didn't know how she could be happy in such a cramped places, full of smell and traffic.

But she had kept in contact with him all those years and that was what mattered.