THIRSTY

 (Continuing)

The two of them carried on as carefree as children through the lazy summer day. They swam and laughed and mused, wondering about the strangeness of it all; the Poppy, its odd powers and all of the adventures it still seemed to be spinning out from its glistening epicenter, even into the present where the two were getting sunburned and beer-tired and made ready for an afternoon nap inside with the air conditioning on and the two of them sharing the couch.

Just before that, well under the influence of his third Old-Style beer, brewed in Milwaukee Wisconsin, as he started to repeat with every cold sip, he boldly announced that he was about to read the very best of the best from the spiral-bound notebook.

At least your humble about it, which is my favorite, she said.

Right? I should write about that.

There, overlooking the Kitteroo range which they still had not gotten anywhere near to hiking, not even into its foothills, they might have appeared to be two of the happiest people on earth.

A red tail hawk banking down to glimpse their folly would have seen mouths gaping wide with joy, would've heard laughter, witnessing two newly born into something fresh to the entirety of the creation, forming a kind of thing that was never a thing but more like a cloud on its bursting in, it's becoming without their efforts or plans and so well beyond their understanding.

Surely, the words were shared and to much beautiful and formative effect upon each of them. The reading proved they were not his at all. No sooner had they passed beyond his lips did he return to the same posture as earlier, that of the listener, a scribe in wonder, astonished.

Their visit would end, though there is more to tell. Naturally they would find their way into conversations about the framed photo and it's history and relationship to Laura, why she had sent it… Why this one? Why to him?

But for our purposes at present, we must simply remember to point out the horrible shock our dear friend did feel upon his return home when he found several pages of the spiral notebook missing.

The very finest words, those that made them sit still to stare at one another before going in for their much-needed beer nap. They were soon to disappear. The profound importance of securely reestablishing their whereabouts shortly after these encounters would come to test them greatly.

Like a strong hand threatening to crumble a tender blossom crudely in its palm, the future would enter to press against the green and fragile tendrils, what twirled so effortlessly toward life, abundant ripeness.

Perhaps Fred had some inclination, maybe that is why he whimpered and went on and on to bark as our friend rolled away after the visit in his immaculate Subaru Forrester.