“That one over there looks like a poodle,” said Mollie, pointing at a cloud that ambled along slowly, amidst a tumble of contented friends, watched under the cerulean sky by a radiant summer sun.
Aaron squinted at the cloud. He hated this game. It was a cloud, and it looked like a cloud not a poodle, because it was that – a cloud.
“It looks like a fish to me,” he replied sardonically.
Mollie raised herself up on one elbow, her curls falling like a shower of amber around her pale, freckled face.
“Aaron, you’re impossible,” she said sternly.
He laughed heartily and pulled Mollie forward to kiss her. She struggled with mock resistence but they soon were rolling, laughing amidst the gay daisies and wild, sweet-smelling long Norfolk grasses.
The poodle cloud gave up the attempted charicature and morphed into something more becoming a cloud of its ambulatory pace, and doing so briefly cast a brief shadow on the oblivious young lovers below.
Later, Mollie lay cradled against Aaron under her grandmother’s patchquilt picnic blanket, her soft, pale naked body a strong contrast against Aaron’s lean, weathered frame. She stroked his hair gently, tousling it with her fingers. He lay with his eyes closed, his breathing causing her to rise and fall gently. She was happy, her happiness only slightly tinged with the sadness that he, her first love, would be off to university tomorrow, too far away for her liking.
“I love you, Aaron,” she said, snuggling up close for comfort.
“Uhuh,” he replied, his mind far away, day dreaming of journeys, university, and a future that waited with bated breath for his arrival.
