Sunday, February 14, 2010

cherry blossoms

At the foot of the hill we have to get into the old bronco to go on. Big hulking truck with cracked leather seats, deep green and soft from years of use. Close your eyes, I tell him. But I don’t believe he won’t peek so I make him bend at the waist, placing his head in his lap. I look over to see him smiling. His face twisted with pleasure.

Driving over the crest I slowly shift to take the bend slowly. Coast into park. Tell him to look. All around us, there are cherry trees. In full bloom. Budding. He looks around the orchard in wonder. Finds me. And smiles. The old quilt is on the back seat, pushed down. A bed for campers. Lovers. Later, after walking in the stream, pants rolled up to my knees, t-shirt splashed and wet, I will push him down, too. I smile in anticipation. He knows me well and he smiles too.