� � �
In the Copper Beeches he found her. Climbing on the gangly limbs, in the amber shadows of sable leaves, he found her. She was writing, and didn�t notice him at first.
Then she looked over her pad at him.
�You look familiar� she said. She had an artist�s eye.
�I saw you at the airport, but I didn�t catch your name� he said, feeling stupid.
�I�m Irene�
�I�m Dave� Then he added �I haven�t met a woman in a tree before. People might think you�re some kind of recluse, scribbling away like its the first thing in the world�. He laughed nervously.
�Well, people might think you�re some kind of weirdo, talking to a woman in a tree like she�s a friend of yours.� She smiled, so he smiled back. �If you want to know what writing in a tree is all about, why don�t you come right up?�
�I left my notebook at home� he said. �I�ll leave the tree-writing for crazies like you�. She laughed. He paused. �Hey, have you noticed, our initials are already carved in the tree!�
She had begun to write again, or pretend to write. �There�ve got to be a thousand signatures on this tree alone� she said, hiding her face with her notebook.
�But how many of those signatures are ours?� he said. He did his best to convey a meaningful look, but came off looking a little shy and over-excited.
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. �Let me get back to my writing, okay?�.
He wanted to say �Until we meet again!� in a booming, heroic voice. Instead he murmured �Of course. Goodbye�.
She nodded. It looked like she was biting her lip.
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