Rest
In this one you are leaning your head on my shoulder as we ride the bus back from Pike Place.
Your hair is short and you carry, I think, the red satchel
Which will later meet its untimely end thanks to Clarence and his insatiable desire for cashews.
The sunlight falls patchily on us, illuminating fragments of ourselves -
The sleeve of my Ireland jacket, your glasses frame, my unruly curl.
My arm bends around your shoulders, snug as a ribbon tied around a package.
We are both smiling, perhaps in mid-conversation, mid-silence, or mid-prayer.
Having expended our earlier exuberance, we are still for now, letting the bus carry us
Our memories and camera full of the day.
There is no "ought" or "should" in this picture, no tug of perceived obligation, no ceremony to uphold..
What there is is stillness, breathing, communion, light.
