That year we had a lot of picnics and dinner parties. We did something like that almost every week. And they would go on for hours. The shadows would get long, and as the seasons went on the grass would crunch under our feet as we stepped.
In the morning we went apple picking. The world was crisp as a pea pod. We climbed the trees and got stuck. A foxtail swished behind a tree. We chased it around the wine saps and pink ladies, ending up with a piece of apple pie. The ferry picked us up from the orchard.
Sunbeams bounced off of the water playfully. Lunching on the island, we sat on the beach and had tea, apples from that morning, and sandwiches cut up into little triangles. Laughter and conversation flowed out of our mouths, over the food, to our ears. As the sun was setting, we danced around through the birch trees and orange light. In darkness we made a fire and talked, and sipped what must have been our twelfth cup of tea. Snowflakes began to form. The sand we were sitting on froze, but the fire was still going. We could feel the sickness creep into our throats. Wool and buttons were everywhere trying to keep it at bay. Down-filled jackets puffed up and down with the wind, shedding themselves when the time came.
Morning sunburns and photographs. Tall ships out to sea. The sun had barely risen, and yet we were here. A typical day could not have brought this on. The usual desire to sleep until noon was gone. We waded in the lake, crawled out and walked into the city.
The lights flowed and buzzed around us. Stores were closing and opening. The grocery store was playing with the farmer’s market. Strawberries, bread, and eggs tumbled and broke. We slipped in the mud, and moved to the ice cream shop. Cows, clogs, and windmills hung from the ceiling, chocolate oozed off of the cones. Waiting, finally getting there.
As streetcars whizzed by we stopped at a cafe for London fogs and cheesecake brownies. Looking for books on stars on Main, the binding of the covers whisper to us. Our chatter covers the creaks of the floorboards, accordions and guitars helped. The bus passed through us. Shattered glass lay on the dewy concrete. The crystals glistened in the crimson blood, becoming rubies. We were conscious of our tongues pressing against our teeth as we spoke. Fields stretched out before us, thread showing paths through patches of thistles that didn’t scratch. We spun and fell close to the stall, our lips chapping in the wind. Tickets blew away, enough for a flock.
We searched for the dominoes and sat there eating and drinking and taking pictures. We climbed on the domino rocks, ran along the beach and the sun rose showing us a smile. The city behind us was in shadow. Swirls of dresses and water and warmth washed over us. Burying each other in the sand, only our heads poking out. Swimming in our floral clothes. Tea in a poppy thermos was delivered with crumpets. We waited to dry and got back into the water. Dizzyingly we fell into our arms to create a laughing circle. The time passed and stayed and went and we continuously travelled through the space.