Ahead of me

I took a walk on a rare clear day;
swirling in milky light,
ghosts of future summers
turned sepia
and whispered
it will be alright.

And you -
ahead of me by 40 years,
pink beret a floating moon -
I saw your stick mark
an internal rhythm
and dance with the afternoon.

I looked across -
my rabbit pelt a field's stubble -
but you were gone;
although there was a hint of pink
in puddle's mirror
on the way home.