Momentary Soulmates
I should have gotten his name that day, by the creek bed.
Birds had been whistling in the trees above and I felt alive, alive, alive. The grass was an alarming shade of chartreuse and the water below me matched the sky. Early summer had that effect on me—somehow it transformed the grey world into one choking with brilliant color. Between the songbirds and the few insects zipping around, I felt alone. Blissfully alone, engrossed in the words of Henry David Thoreau.
