friend shaped
All summer finding a bright spot to sit down. Driftwood logs on the beach. Jericho, Squamish, Wreck, Kitsilano. Sun beaten docks on the Fraser River. Let's bring snacks and tell stories.
A sunset, a measure of days, overhead, lurid yellows and amber. The ocean darkens to the night chorus. You watch the colours bleeding over the crickets' crescendo, in the growing shadow of the mountain. The tide slinks out over the rocks, as we sit and dry off and enjoy the stillness.
I feel a pang of gratitude, looking at your face, breathing in all life.
The Pacific Northwest is a dreamscape of mountain meadows and glacier lakes and big ships and seals. We make a game out of coin diving. Each round, racing down arms outstretched, belly working, kicking blindly. Then bursting out of the water to greet the trees and mountains and shipyard all around. Deep breath. Barges coming in, yellow lights blinking. Savour these moments, I remind myself. The gasp and water's embrace. The rhythm of your heartbeat under the surface, each breath as finite and sacred as a life.