Walk

 A summer stroll. The early morning coolness, the early morning silence. Always a dog trotting at our feet. Snapping images, words running through my head. A holiday even just around the corner from home.

 Grab a handful of wildflowers. Lie down in the grass, face turned up towards the sky, feel the warmth. Close your eyes and make a wish and blow. Watch the dandelion fuzz flutter away on the breeze.

 A stroll in the vineyards. Dew-kissed raisins bundled together tightly, kicking up dirt as we snake between the rows. A quiet, out of the way spot, a picnic in a clearing, pulling roasted chicken apart with our fingers and drinking red wine straight out of the bottle. Shake the crumbs off of the blanket and stretch out for a nap.

 The wonder of nature through the eyes of a child, down on all fours grabbing at slugs and snails, peering intently at antennae, scooping up handfuls of minnows and tadpoles. Squatting in the grass, poking at roots with a stick, mind wandering through time and space, head cocked at the whistle of a bird. Eyes peeled for movement, silent, introspective concentration.

 Plated Stories still on summer vacation.

Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; 

to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. 

~ Henry James