He was asleep the first time they walked the path 
snuggled in a blanket
as she heaved the pushchair
over cobbled stones
to reach the tree-lined track

Later he would love that bumpy entrance 
taking tentative steps
a stick grasped in one hand
her two fingers
tight in the other

They walked in warm spring evenings 
after long days at school
and crisp weekend mornings
before birthday parties
or football

The tunnel of trees went on endlessly 
so it was easy to talk
share hopes or heartbreak
walking side by side
eyes on the path ahead

The night before he left for uni 
they stepped in silence
him feigning indifference
her pretending
not to cry

Six weeks after she became a widow 
he bought her an overexcited dog
who dragged them along 
their well-trodden path 
with fresh eyes

Two months after he became a father 
she taught him to navigate
a fancier pushchair
over cobbled stones
without waking the baby

Later his child would love that bumpy entrance 
stooping to pat the worn stones
as the less excited dog
took the opportunity
to rest

He once tried to estimate the number of times 
they had taken the walk together
but it rained
and he lost count
somewhere around two thousand

When they walked the path for the last time 
that they didn’t know was the last time
she grasped her stick in one hand
and held his steady arm
tight in the other