We stumbled down the stony path. Giggles and snorts filled the air. The pit-patter of our feet on the worn willowy wooden planks of the dock slowed as our young eyes drank in the delectable sight. A rich riveting red rippled across the sky molding into a piercing passionate pink. Rays of yellow left behind from the afternoon sun tried to peek out from the tops of lush live oaks that nestled the banks of the river. Pulling out Grandma Janie’s quilt, we snuggled close to each other our arms intimately interlocked. A whispering breeze tickled the hairs on Leila’s arms and flirted with the wispy strands of brown locks that fell loose from Erin’s ponytail.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The smell of the river settled in our lungs. The pinks that scattered above melded into tender purples that stretched across the sky like a scroll undone. Hoots and hollers of adolescent boys behind us broke the still silence we found comfort.
“Mark! No!” Leila yelled a second too late as a pale, lanky boy threw himself into the lake. Cool water drenched our quilt. Incessant squeals erupted as two more boys plunged themselves into the chilly water.
“C’mon! Don’t be chicken!” Peter teased as he tried to splash us from below.
“Just wait until I tell mama what you done!” Erin pouted. She stood squeezing her hair dry. James–the quiet one–with soft grey eyes and a freckled nose, pulled himself up unto the dock. You could see it in his eyes, the last thing he’d ever want to do would be to upset sweet Erin.
coffeeshoptuesdays 