We sat on the grass & rested after an hour of hard work & watched the sun start to drop. There was a small humming that grew and grew exponentially & we looked up & suddenly we were in a cloud of golden honey bees. The humming sank into our skin & we stood up and lifted our arms & felt the barest brush of thousands of wings, & when they passed to new lands we waved goodbye.
She walked barefoot along the wet path & felt the rain begin to fall through the thick leaves, setting the ferns to nodding & painting circles on the surface of the creek. She was wet to the skin and it seemed natural to be soaked into the soil through the dead leaves underfoot, & when the rain suddenly grew voices & brought snatches of conversation from far away, riding on the water in the air, she stopped & turned up her face & laughed.
2 comments:
Hm. Have you read "Ode on a Grecian Urn?" This puts me in the mind of it--time, frozen, so you can hold it.
Keats would be proud of you, is what I'm saying.
Somehow the "&"s makes this feel like an old journal entry.
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