We walk down the black paved road,
Our hands clasped tight like vines intertwined.
Two separate entities, slowly growing into one.
A dashed yellow line dividing the street in two.
Wading through the muggy air,
The sun overhead, its rays beat against my skin,
Slowly turning me a deeper bronze.
Nearing the bottom of the hill, the end of the road,
Our turn awaiting us off to the right.
A miniature Stonehenge greeting us,
Boulders upright in a circle.
Stumbling upon a village of blackberry bushes,
We continued onward.
The berries, sweet and sun-ripened,
The summer is coming to a close.
The aroma wafts to our nostrils as we descend,
Toward the peaceful lullaby of water on the rocks.
Picking berries as we tread alongside the stream.
Our purple-stained fingers latch onto rocks as we make our way down.
We kick off our shoes, peel off our socks,
Venture onto the log which stretched out across the water.
From the middle of the log, water behind and ahead of us, we see it.
A bundle of logs and a ragged rope,
Hiding beneath a canopy of trees.
We tie them together,
One by one, and finish with a knot.
Away we float, lying on our backs,
The sun smiling on our faces,
Kissing our skin with golden rays.
A sudden splash of water surprises me
droplets land on my lips and seek my tongue:
Summer creek-water, rocks, and hints of salty sweat.
I spit it out of my mouth and retaliate,
Shoving water at him and drenching his left side.
The raft abandoned.
A water fight ensues.
Cold of shadows creeps onto our dripping wet clothes,
The sun disappearing behind the trees.
We race to retrieve our shoes and find the sun.
Our hands, shriveled raisins.
We climb the rocks to navigate the blackberry bushes,
Back to the street.
Our hands, laced, strolling silently along the dashed yellow line.
The sun setting,