The Green Flash

The other day we ran out on the rocky pier together.
Dolphins played in the water with the surfers.
Surfing the waves along with them.
I giggled aloud into a silence
Shaking with sounds of water and birds and the glee of dolphins.

I read you a story about wolves eating a Russian bride.
We both cringed at the thought of it.
I put the book away.
I preferred listening to you anyway.

Conversation wandered back to the present
And you started to tell me your stories.
Sad and happy, none of them as sad as the wolves.
Sometimes you felt lonely and I wanted to take that from you,
But I have learned that it is yours
And felt only glad that you had shared with me.

You were afraid I'd slip on the big irregular rocks
As we scrambled back with the sun setting behind us.
But I am sure-footed from chasing my brothers up and down the creek.
You learn this about me.
I learn about you, too.
As you let me.

You came with me as I rode my bike home alone at sunset,
Pausing before we turned east away from the ocean to watch for the green flash.
I wondered if you saw it.
I sometimes imagine I see it,
Just as I imagine I see you.
Imagine I know you
As separate from myself.