Wednesday, June 1, 2011


We sat outside in air the temperature of our own skin, losing track of where our bodies ended and where the soft evening began.  The breeze, occasionally reminding us that we weren't really connected to the currents, smelled of freshly laid mulch and ruffled the frayed cuffs of our shorts. 

There was no conversation.  If asked, we'd smile and explain that words between people who have been together this long are no longer needed, but the truth is we've just run out of things to say.