"I hope this place we're heading to has grass,"   Becky said as she followed me over a rocky rivulet that led to a stretch of desert sand,  "I'm not going to lie on rocks and sand."

               "Yes, it does actually,"  I said,  "I discovered the place the last time I came up here to do some writing.   It's close by a running stream near the base of a small hill.   You'll like it."

               Becky didn't say much after that, but I had a feeling that she had her doubts as she followed me.

               There is a quiet brooding energy that breathes in Sabino Canyon, which is one of the reasons why I continued to journey back to our spot at Sabino even after Becky had left.   Besides the memories that were here for me, it was quiet, beautiful to explore, and a good place to think and to write.
               The very essence of writing is energy.   Energy which flows from the brain into a non-physical universe where it catches faint glimpses of images and words which no one can see.   Energy that exists deep within my very soul and empowers words to flow into ink, and imbues it with the energy of my soul for someone else to see and feel.
               It is there that writing from the heart has its price:  It leaches your energy and extracts a portion of your soul.
               And so, it has been in my sojourns to Sabino, exploring out-of-the-way places, that I rejuvenate by immersing my self in the energy that flows here, and discovering new worlds dwelling within my soul.

               Keeping true to my mental map of landmarks and distances that I create when hiking out in new territory, we followed the stream up.

               "How far is this place of yours?"    Becky asked trudging between two closely growing bushes that I had just treked through.

               I had begun to wonder about that myself.    My "X-Marks-the-Spot" place seemed closer on my mental map than it actually was becoming.
               The problem with Time is that matter moves and things change over the course of it.   Floods change the breadth and depths of rivers, and droughts take the known banks away, trees die and fall, and bushes overgrow an area changing the remembered landscape forever.   I was pondering the possibility of this geological change occurring within the few short months since I was here last, when I stumbled across a forgotten landmark; A large rock in front of a small Bottlebrush embedded in an outcrop of calf-high grass.   We were right on course.

               "It's just a little further,"  I said,  "Just around that mound there by the stream."

               The place was a small grassy area, the lower portion of a small hill, which sloped slightly towards the rushing stream.   It sat quietly out of the way, cloaked by the surrounding bushes and trees that huddled along the stream's path.

              "This is the place."   I said.   I set the backpack down and sat on the grass.    Becky sat down beside me.

               There is a world of beauty and spirituality that lies in nature, which exists beyond words or understanding.   And with Becky sitting there beside me, everything seemed so surreal.
               The stream's burbling-rush, in the warm open air, became a sound that hid us from the rest of the world.   Breezes swirled through the Cottonwood trees that huddled around us, making their leaves quiver in hightened ecstasy, as if applauding the wind's teasing dance.   Sabino Canyon breathes.

               "This really is a nice place."      Becky said quietly.

               "I told you it was.    Would you like a beer?"

               "Yes; open one up." Beck replied.

               I pulled out a couple of beers from the backpack and handed one to Beck.

               "Tell me about Chris. What's he like?"

               There were things that I wanted to know... things that had flooded my mind ever since I heard the news... things I wanted to know about the man that now possessed my Becky.
               Becky sat there for a moment lightly handling her beer.

               "I really don't feel comfortable,"    Becky said gazing down at her beer, "Talking about my husband with my old boyfriend."   

               There was an undercurrent of emotions that remained un-spoken.    Becky was blocking me from the answers that I had sought.    I wondered at the reasons for her hesitantcy.    I wasn't going to push it, but for now, my questions would go unanswered.
               I leaned over to kiss her, but she pulled back a little.

               "What about this?"     She said solemnly, lightly twisting her wedding ring.

               I took her hand in mine and lightly circled my thumb around the tiny dimond stone of her ring.

               "Yes..."    I said half to myself, and I sighed,   "What about that?"

               "I guess we've made our beds,"    Beck said,    "Now we have to lie in them."

               That was not a cheerful thought... and one which I didn't believe.    Deep-down Becky wasn't happy... she didn't have that light-hearted, flamboyant, "Becky flair" that I knew so well, and missed.     It was like she had some sordid dark-secret that remained unspeakable.     But it reflected in her eyes, her quiet demeanor and in the words she chose.     Becky remained quiet, reserved, and seemed unsure of letting me get too close.
               I turned her hand over and gently kissed her palm, letting my lips linger at the warmth and softness of her hand. Her fingers softly caressed my face and lightly urged my head up.     And then once again our lips met.    And everything around us faded from awarness.    The feel of her lips and breath moving softly on my lips became my entire world.     Becky was my Becky once again.     Each hot breath that punctuated our kisses blended us together into the mounting humidity of the late August afternoon.

               "Wait a minute."   Becky said.

               She stood in front of me and pulled off the pull-over V-neck that she had on, leaving her white blouse dangling slightly open in front of me.    I reached and grabbed her at her hips and found my hands exploring the softness of her hips.
               I pulled her close and my lips found bare skin between her jeans and her soft white blouse.     She kneeled down on top of me and her lips found mine again.     It was like a thirst that could not be satiated; and each new kiss urged me back for more; to savor the feel, the taste, of each new soft touch of Becky on my lips.

               "O Becky... my Becky!" I uttered.

               Becky was electric, and addicting, and I was intoxicated by her caressing touches, as my lips explored the changing electric-textures of her neck, down, into the territory underneath each newly undone button.

               Becky moved over onto the grass and laid back.     I leaned over and re-adjusted my angle to accomodate her new postition, and our lips greeted each other with renewed passion, and once again, I was lost in the feel of her lips between mine, lightly caressing, lightly touching her lips with mine.

"You're so gentle."     Becky whispered, like she was amazed.

               I looked at her.    She brushed back my hair with her hand.     It seemed like such an odd tender little statement.     Was I being too gentle?    I wondered; or was it that Chris wasn't gentle with my Becky?     Or was it nothing more than just a tender observation?     I tried to read the answer in her eyes.     Becky gazed at me sofly, and yet, with a currious quality that pulled me deeper into her.     Becky was so beautiful.

               "I love you."     I said.

               "I love you too"     She said softly.

               And with that, we were kissing and in each other's embrace, softly caressing each other tenderly.