Twilight and you're standing in her yard. The streetlight streaming through the willow trees, the breeze, the summer heat.
You stand there with her and those seeds, the helicopter seeds, get blown from the trees and fall twisting, turning, fall to cover the street and the gravel driveway and fall. It's not raining seeds so much as snowing seeds.
Seeds landing softly, tiny thuds you imagine you can hear, thunks and thuds that you realize is your heartbeat loud in your ears.
At this moment you don't know it, but in just a few months time you will be standing in that same yard. There will be snow on the ground and you will be freezing because you left your coat in the car.
You will be freezing and the snow will be coming down, lightly, the first snow of the season, the sun coming down, the snow on her hair and eye lashes and she will say "goodbye" and will say "i've missed you so much" and she will hug you, tightly.
She will squeeze you and you can hear the snow falling. The thuds and the thunks. And then you realize it is your heart, again, in your ears.
And you leave.

I've made wanderlust women homesick.
I've made safe women wild.