She closes her eyes to the feeling of her fingernails underwater. She doesn’t see the black of eyelids but instead- the deep green of quiet air under the pond’s surface.
She listens to the sounds of algae worlds amid ripples of water and the occasional deep breath of her companion. The fiery fears of the world giggle off in the distance like the faraway loon.
Her cheek rests on a bed of her own wavey locks, matted in the sweat of the summer heat and though her many thoughts dance around the air with wonder like forest flies with her emotions humming like the mighty cicadas- her body feels stuck to the cool, sanded, and splashed wood of the rowboat. She is content to drift listlessly in this tranquil liquid like the oars at her side.
He has raised his head from the pillow of her bundled dress to rest upon his hand. She is peace on the Earth he thinks… and he wonders at the infinite forest flies and where the roar of the cicadas is coming from…