In the morning we run, chins lifted to the sky, side by side. In the afternoon we take a ferry ride to the island to take pictures.
The wind on the water cuts right through our clothes, but we huddle together and kiss, there on the deck, as one shore recedes and another gets closer.
That’s a lot like life, I think. All the shifting shores, this body shuttling through the world.
The wind makes my hair a mess, but that’s kind of the point. To ride the ferry and let the wind tangle my hair and emerge on the far shore, cheeks chapped, changed.
The island is everything, all houses and rolling fields and cows grazing in the mist. We resolve to run here, for the sheer joy of it, a personal half.
At the photo shot with the beautiful family, we can’t help but tell ourselves how lucky we are to be here, together, watching the sun set through the fog, the silent woods, the barn with its owl and its blue door.
On the ferry ride home we split some nachos while we watch the lights of the mainland grow brighter. Side by side, salt on our lips. Share the extra cheese. Kiss each other. Feel the warmth the whole way home.