Friday, June 15, 2007
This afternoon sunlight poured from above, tripped and tumbled over the dancing leaves and a windchime laughed in a distance. You slept through it, your cheek warming my shoulder. I will scoop up the glittering light from the leaves, pluck out the windchime's laughter, squeeze out the scent of pines and press it all together in between the pages of the telephone directory, so that sometime tomorrow we will plop this afternoon into our mouths and savor its wild sweetness. Sometime tomorrow you and i will lie down on the greenest grass and gaze at this afternoon sky, as the light trips and falls over the dancing leaves and the windchime bursts out in glee. We will watch till the blue seeps into us, we will watch till our eyes are quenched, and then you'll turn around and shoot a kick and i'll follow your lead , and the dogwood trees beside us will chuckle and shed a photo. Look mamma, it's us you'll shout, and in the photo you and i will be lying on greenest grass, as leaves danced and light tripped and windchime giggled and scent of pines curled out. I'd be vaguely surprised too.