Today was a day for swimming in the creek, or freezing as it were. After a week of chilly weather it can only be expected. In my mind now I slow down the moments before jump off of the dock. (Well, all except for those few choice words I said - those can be skipped over.) I can feel my feet padding along the dry boards, thinking to myself just how dry I was, that is, not completely owing to the slight heat. Duhmp, duhmp, duhmp, I'm running now. Spring with a squeak to get me over the branches on the shore, and I'm not in the air long enough for falling to register, as when you're on a rope swing, or the lead up leaves you scared of the deed. Shit, it was cold. That's the first thought after resurfacing. Oddly enough, it wasn't breathing that bothered me, it was getting out. Then, from the water, I shout to my buddies, and one by one they succumb, hating me instantly when they hit the creek with a splash.
Some time after the water came fire, a nice touch. I like to watch the flame's burlesque show, how it slowly strips the log, leaving nothing but hot smoldering embers in the basin of the rusty pit. I'd like to say that I joined in the conversation over cold pretzel dogs, but the dance and my own thoughts held me captive. It's not like anything important was said. Apparently, none of us have important things to say. Sometimes I believe that I would talk more if it meant something, but much of the time it seems that it doesn't. I open my mouth to speak, and I say something I believe witty, something that people will remember me by, but somehow my banter isn't meant for such circles. It's fine, the flames were captivating, and I had stuff running through my mind.
Thoughtful Regards,
Caleb
P.S. suspire - to utter with long, sighing breaths
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