Outside Milly-la-foret, it’s started raining again –
The same drizzle that kept us in our small apartment all day.
The skies had promised bluer skies and we bolted at the first hint of blue.
A long hike to stretch our legs.
Indeed we saw the sun illuminate the edges of the stacked white clouds like a neon sign.
It coated the fields of France in a buttery glow
That turned the willow trees electric green
And made the woods hum, freshly washed.
That was several kilometers ago.
It’s raining again,
The new grass under the awning of the oaks is electric green.
It looks as fragile as cobwebs, as soft as downy feathers.
What would it feel like under my skin?
I reach up and brush the oak branch as I pass.
Cool droplets run along my arms – a harmless summer rain.
What if I pulled you down to the mud with me, I wonder?
I trundle up behind you and take you by your waist
Pause your athletic striding and put my hand on your cheek
Your lips are electric, like the willow trees and the new grass.
And though we will continue walking, and the sun comes out, and the German shepherd stalking us turns out to be a big baby dog with giant muddy feet,
The memory in distant future weeks will be of soft lips under an arbor of soft, summer rain.

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