A June night, age nineteen.

It is warm and cool on the Plains. The heat soaked up by the earth that day hovers in the grass just above the ground; the night air carries smells of the river below, grey and silent, scents that speak of whales, eels and starfish.

We run, out of breath, not watching where we step. There is nowhere to go, just the sky overhead. Cap Diamant nearby, with roots of the trees clinging to the cliffs, afraid of tumbling into the abyss. There is something foreign yet familiar about having you by my side. For years, you have been passing through my life; like a comet, disappearing as quickly as you come.

Writing While Worried
Le Cirque