"Lighthouse Beach" by Brittany June
Haste-less was the walk towards the shore. Evening it was. Love it was. And so we walked. The sun was dipping into a slumber, our eyes adjusting to the subtle drop in light. A blanket was fastened around my neck, and in his hands, he held two bags -- one filled with literature, the other, some coffee and pastries. It was to be a mini picnic, despite the impending night. The father had mentioned previously, "It's a bit late to have a picnic, no?" Somewhat agreeably, we understood the point, shaking our heads obligingly, but still -- we felt the impulse to go, and so we did.
Jest rose as we walked. Little bouts of laughter. Reeling nonsense that would only make sense to us both. Mutual sane insanities. Cackling in the spry clearing. Our feet grazed about the sands, and the drift of our traversing felt smooth and transient. We were the waves. Lapping in smoothness. Smiles widened on our faces. Our eyes searched for a place to retire. Slabs of rock strewn. Which one would be ours?
We planted ourselves on a boulder, the agreement feeling rather tacit and organic, for the decision was immediate and rightfully clicked.
We splayed out the blanket, and he sat Indian style. I nestled myself into the grotto of his body, molding my body comfortably in his cavity -- in the ample of that spreading shore.
The landscape remained smooth. The moon sharpened in color. Peels of shadow danced. We were enveloped in a dreamy lucidity -- a paradise.