Saturday, July 23, 2011

swim

At a cabin of friends we meet for the first time, another beginning another ending. We are old enough to understand the inevitability of this chapter, the implications of the previous and a hope for the next. He instructed me to be more aware and vigilant, grown up he said and I know to heed the warnings of the wise. Yet in this cabin you and I vacation from the vigilant. We stop making the words and start being them.

Why yes, you can write, I say but add, if you want.


You smile and I realize your smile was the one thing of which I was convinced. Certain. This cabin becomes your smile and I make a note. How could we not write?

I want to share a secret with you without affecting you so I make a secret note of your smile. We made introductions hours ago, you her you him they you then everybody about the business of the rule, the one rule. Make yourself happy or don't. Responsibility was the most adult decision I ever made.

You smile again. I see dimples and brown eyes and make another note.


Can I make some pictures of you? I ask quickly, it comes out fast, I fear sounding too strong and you reply, Sure. I knew this too but sometimes I doubt myself.

You sit on the swing, the very center and stretch your arms out to where your hands hold the chains. I sit on the wood deck in front of you and the camera, my friend and foe, becomes the only thing between us. This is good, we need it. The camera, a thing to hold us back.

I am not a shallow swimmer. I like to go deep and later we'll take a swim in the dark at the end of the pier. Right now the sun is planning it's descent and the light has become warm and it holds you cozy. You look out over the lake. I snap the shutter from my lap while admiring you. This is serious you.

What do ya' think of the place?

Nice. Very nice. You turn back to look at me, I take another shot and the smile returns, wider now. You seem instantly aware of where you are and I almost regret disturbing you. Another shot and I move to the right walking to the far end of the porch. Aware and appreciative of how you watch as I am walking away I point the camera behind my back and snap. I hope I got it. I hope I got you looking. I may treasure that one. I may write a story about it. Another beginning another ending. Maybe there will be more. All anyone could ever hope for was hope.

I get on my knees and take another shot. The scene is expansive with you as only a prop so I decide the light is losing and we have all week. Let's go to the pier, I say, when it gets dark enough we'll take off our clothes and jump in. Will that be okay?

I'm definitely up for that, you say and there's that smile again.

Not long after we are playing in the dark, all grown up and playing.



Gratitude and music.

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