It is just he and I
We sit on the splintered, wooden dock; me with my hat on, my head tucked under the stitched brim
With my damp pants rolled up to my knee and my toes dangling and drifting in the chilled lake water, we embrace the silence

We watch the birds scrape the sunset with their outstretched wings and listen to the crickets hum a pleasant melody in the long, wispy grass
He glances at me, his deep, warm brown eyes melting; the world cradles us in its burly arms
Soon we will be called to return


I know the sun will shortly fade and the only thing left to light our path in the dark, still night will be the full and heavy moon
Its gleaming shadow will dance on the waters stage, the spotlight all to itself

The fireflies appear to come from nowhere but soon they surround us in a circle of light
I spy a lantern’s glow from the small prairie house that has managed to raise my family of six
The aging timbers resemble the fingers of hands grasping at one another, straining to avoid loosing their grip
My ears turn to the clinking of metal on metal as my lean and stoic mother labors over our rusted kitchen sink
The daisy, yellow curtains blow through the open kitchen windows like unleashed ghosts roaming through the night, riding the wind
My father’s silhouette emerges from the house, tall and sturdy, looking for me now
I duck down, hidden underneath the swaying grass
I hope he does not spot me out on the dock this late, he knows I will bargain for all the time I can get and this time he will not be fooled

Through strained eyes he does not see me, I breathe a sigh of relief as he starts heading in the other direction
“We’ve done it again,” I whisper to my companion, letting out a giggle
And so we stay, until dusk settles in
Resting our heads back on the dock
My hand around his rough but fragile paw, his brown eyes now shut in a peaceful slumber
For now, we are safe