Big Birch Lake

We are sitting on that low stone wall above the sandy shore. The full moon hanging above our heads casts a soft glow on your face and a lively sparkle on the calm waters that spread into inky blackness before us. The boat ride over was a bacchanal, and we're still wet from the dip we all took as we crossed the sandbar.

The night is warm and muggy, but I lean into you anyway because I want to hear not just your voice but also your calm and steady breath. We sneaked out the back door of the bar without your friends noticing, but jukebox country still leaks out past the back deck, past the docks, past our ears, across the lake, into the night. You tell me you wonder how long it'll be before they notice we're gone. You grin.

Better enjoy this moment, I think. The perfect moments are so few and only recognizable as such once they've passed. They scare off when called out. But once so very rarely the moon rises right overhead and shines its gorgeous soft light on a moment and if I hold it still, if we hold everything still, we can see that this moment right now is exactly right.

Hold your slow and steady breath, please. Stop time with me. Meet me again, on the low stone wall, to tell me about the world that sparkles and shines inside you.