The bleachers are cold. The air is cold. Our ears and noses are cold. Just yesterday, it was warm. 78 degrees, probably.
We sneak into the stadium, even though the black, red and white sign next to the fence warns trespassing lovers like us to keep out. Well, it doesn't warn lovers. But people in general. We just happen to be lovers, who happen to be people, who happen to be trespassing. We need a place to sit. And a blanket.
I drive. It's sparkly. I need to watch the road.
The Roman goddess of the dawn: her name is Aurora. Like sleeping beauty. Phillis Wheatly told us so. Then, we read Emerson. We like the dawn. And good poetry. He keeps looking at me. I just smile.
It's raining, I'm barefoot, standing in solitude, waiting for his hands to find mine. He'll come, I know. He doesn't like the wet, but he likes me.
Baptism, grandparents, and Marathon Kids
2 months ago