We met among the wild flowers



I watched the sunrise reflected in your glasses. Behind the frames, your eyes were closed, and the look of contentment on your face was such that it kept me still. We met among the wild flowers to watch the golden hues that were just then spilling through the topmost branches of the pines, but neither of us were even looking, not really, and that was okay. You were tired from repeatedly working the night shift at your second job, and I’m sure the light diffusing through your eyelids was pleasant enough. I just couldn’t turn away. Occasions when you looked this vulnerable were always too fleeting, so watching the colors shift secondhand in your readers was hardly a sacrifice. You were a fixture in that valley, sprawled out with natural abandon that seemed almost inhuman to me. I could imagine you posed like that for centuries, enchanting hikers with your splendid decadence, spring rains eroding…

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