“Warm Spell” by Derek Wood

She is sun-soaked, sandy and slipping in and out of my hands all afternoon. Once in a while you know, as something happens to you, that this will not be lost between the pages of your memory. This one will be etched out– cartography of the kind of people we were. Women have this way, she has this way, of making anything besides right now feel frivolous. She is all bends in the knees and elbows, telling me about some sea in Alaska where two oceans meet but never mix. Today will be the same, standing apart form all else which takes place, isolated and perfect because of it. In the warm months it’s easier to fall into people like this, the heat makes us take our guards down and air out the creases of who we are. And for that I am thankful.

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