~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~

"Excuse me?" She started, surprised that that her idyll had been broken. I know that far-off gaze, the glassy eyes, the wistful longing.

I smiled my eyes twinkling with laughter.

"My grandmother used to tell me stories, said that during the hottest summer days, just after spring, the dandelions would sing to entice the rain to end their misery."

She turned to look at me, one hand leaning on the flat rock she sat on, the other shading her eyes from the sun behind me.

Despite the heat, she had a white t-shirt under her red and blue flannel shirt, khaki cargo pants, white socks and sandals.

I put both hands into my jeans pockets and stared at the raging sea of yellow across the river. I scraped my bare foot on the grass, looking down into the hard spots of brown earth, thinking ludicrously that she could see inside of me.

"I used to sit out here on hot days, when I was younger, waiting," I said softly, "and you're on my rock besides."

"No wonder it felt warm, as though you never left," she said teasingly.

"I suppose we could share."

Her hair was dandelions curling in a riot to crown the loveliest head. I could have stared at her all day instead.

I bit my lip in an uncertain smile as I looked into her eyes, hearing nothing but the river quietly snaking its way to the faraway ocean.

"You know, it's funny," she said above the painful thudding of my heart, "you never cross the same water twice, not in a million lifetimes."

************
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Steam - 19.01.07
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