The day was unbearably hot. The air hung heavy and bloated like a balloon filled with water, drops of condensation beading like sweat on its surface. Then it burst. Raindrops drenched the streets, intoxicating people with the scent of cooling asphalt. I ran through puddles to your doorstep.
Later we hurtled over still-hot motorways in your car, windows stuck shut. A capsule of heat in which we were drowning. We got to the lake and spilt out the doors in a sticky mass. The freshness of the air hit us like lake water.
Towels spread on rocks, we edged into the water. Rocks sharp on our feet and water cold around our ankles. The sun sank behind the trees. We sank up to our shoulders.
We spread ourselves out to dry by a fire we made from pine cones. The smoke rose up like incense. The sky turned pewter, bruisy clouds dancing across the horizon like wild beasts. Pine trees, black against the sky's dim glow, cut a pattern against the sky. We stared so long, so deeply, that the light through the trees looked like cliffs of silver jutting out of black rocks.
As night fell we watched lights sparkling across the lake, voices drifting across, carried by faint trains of music. Above them, bulbous grey cloud burst with lightning, sporadically lighting up the lake.
We lay on our backs staring up at the pine trees boughs until the fire went out.
I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment