The sweet end of summer

Landscape with Campsite, oil on canvas mounted...

Public Domain Image via Wikipedia

The late summer days are no longer stifling, but the shade of the woods is still welcome. Birds sing their end-of-season songs, leaves rustle with the breeze, and twigs snap underfoot. In the distance, the sound of campground activity rings out. I notice none of these things. I am distracted by the warmth of his hand on mine, the worry that my hand may be sweaty in his.

Ah, the sweet angst of first love.

The days are long and lazy, spent intermittently with family, with clusters of other campers’ kids, gathered around the communal campfire, or in his back yard adjacent to the campground. He’s scheduled to take the test to get his learner’s permit in another month, and in the mean time he’s been fixing up an old Nova. Family, school, the car, the test… there are a million things to catch up on since I saw him last year. The distance means that whenever we see each other it’s the beginning, we’re getting to know each other all over again.

I find that though much changes in a year, the feel of his kiss is the same.

The sun sinks low, and a chill sets in. We walk the edge of the property in half-light. The air is rich with earthy autumnal scents mixed with the tang of woodsmoke wafting from the fire.

Even as the night falls, we are never still for long; I can’t seem to let us be. We sit at the roadside a while, the day’s warmth still releasing from the asphalt even while dew settles in the grass. It’s quiet there for a while, his arm gentle around me, until a passing car throws bright light in our eyes. Then we wander slowly across the yards, criss-crossing through the wet grass, hand in hand and unmindful of damp feet. As we reach the wooded road that leads into the campground, we are momentarily blind as our eyes adjust to the darkness. The comforting sounds of camp are nearby, but the crickets chirp in all directions around us. I lean against a tree. The night air is wood-soaked and cool around me, the bark is rough behind me, his body is warm against me. The faintest whisper of the mustache he’s started to grow tickles my lip. My heart races as his tongue dances with mine. I am awake, alive, afraid, exhilarated.

I am fifteen. To kiss and hold hands… this is the height of innocent passion.

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~ by lorakceel on March 1, 2011.

One Response to “The sweet end of summer”

  1. The Sweet End Of Summer…

    […]The night air is wood-soaked and cool around me, the bark is rough behind me, his body is warm[…]…

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