Just you and me and the white moon in the sky above tonight.
Just you and me and this hammock and the kinda-wet grass that’s got my feet damp and chilly in the breeze of our sway. Everyone else gone home and our family sleeping; we still got this moon and this black sky and this clean-smelling air and each other.
It’s good being here now.
It’s better that we fit tight; makes it feel like my tongues are meant for your grooves and your tenons were made for my mortises. This string binds up our arms and legs and hangs us under the stars and the moon like trussed game. Even though your hair tickles my nose and my whiskers poke at your cheek, they’re good tickles and pokes.
So I’ll just breathe and stare and you’ll just stare and breathe and that’ll be enough. The cricket and frog olde-tyme chorus will cheer us in our cocoon, and even the little invisible bugs alighting on our arms and legs won’t be uninvited.
Collaborating together on nothing, and busy letting the Earth spin despite our collective indifference, I’ll be here for a while if you’ll be here for a while; OK?
But really, have you ever looked at the shape of your own hips? They have this kind of ideal bend to them, some perfect curve maybe based on that one magic ratio they taught me about in math class. You know, the number you can find in pinecones and sunflowers and nautilus shells – also maybe in the arc of your hips.
I’ma trace that line with my finger and pretend I’m the Lord God with a sketchpad.
So let’s just swing here for a few more minutes; the stress of today is nearly erased from my mind and that’s nice. It’s really good being here now.