An Offering.

The air was sweet with the scent of wildflowers,
petals opening under the warm touch of spring.
We were draped across my favorite blanket,
Its edges worn with stories my Gramz stitched into its threads before she left it behind. 

I told him all about her, her wild heart,
how she swore at the moon and danced in the rain.
He laughed, shaking his head in awe,
calling her a woman who lived unafraid,
a woman he wished he could have met.

He told me of his parents,
his father’s quiet strength,
his mother’s fierce heart.
How they built him, broke him,
and how he pieced himself back together on the path to understanding what it meant to truly be.

We spoke of purpose, of presence, 
The weight and beauty of just being alive.
And when we grew restless, we ran to the river,
giggling, laughing, chasing 
Gasping at the shock of the cold water on our sunkissed skin

We splashed and wrestled
his hands quick to block, mine quicker to strike.
And though you might think it,
Not once did we kiss,
but the way he grabbed my waist and spun me
as if the air itself couldn’t touch me without his permission

Ooof. 

it left something electric behind.

Later, as the sun began its slow descent,
he built us a fire, the flames snapping
against the cooling breeze.
He placed a flower in my hair,
his fingers gentle, lingering,
as if I might break under the weight of his care.

We sat close on the blanket,
the quiet only broken by his voice
reading from a book he loved.
Each word flowing effortlessly as if they were always meant to find me here. 
I leaned into him, not touching,
but near enough to feel the heat of his presence.

With a soft smile played at his lips,
he looked up from his book,
his eyes catching the flicker of the firelight,
a quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken 
pride, not just in himself,
but in us, in the tender, beautiful space we had created.

The softness of the earth cradled us, 
And there was nothing beyond this moment 
not the past, not the future.
Nothing controlled and nothing craved.

I leaned in closer resting my head on his shoulder 
He continued reading 
As though the very act was an offering 

I closed my eyes,
and in the cadence of his voice,
I found a quiet I had never known.