temporary things; eternal moments

We were hurtling down rural New York back roads and admiring the sunset. It was the type of lilac and light rose that you rarely see. It had us enamored and we gazed through our open windows at the sky.

As we turned around the bend, we rapidly approached the lake.

“Pull over!” I yelled, pointing towards the water.

Terri turned into the parking lot and we jumped out of the car, racing to the water’s edge. Our little dog, Ollie, could hardly keep up.

Terri crashed into the water, wading in as high as her shorts allowed, admiring the oranges and yellows emerging from the sunset.

I soaked in the moment, amazed at the sight before me.

“We really do live in a beautiful place.” I murmured under my breath.

I sat down on the grassy shore and watched Terri for a few moments as the sun crept lower and lower behind the hills. At this moment, I wanted nothing more than to capture these feelings forever.

The sound of the gentle lapping of the water washed into my ears, and the air from the summer breeze filled my lungs. There was a boat, floating nearby, and I watched the reflected pinks fade to blues on its sails.

My bare feet in the cool grass, I pondered something Terri had mentioned earlier.

She said that we are merely in a temporary place, with temporary people, and temporary jobs. For us, New York is temporary. It won’t last for more than another year before we run off to our next adventure.

But sitting there, counting the fireflies among us, I knew that this moment is not temporary. Something about this moment, with Terri, is eternal.

How do we explain this phenomenon, of being together in this moment forever in our minds?

I want to live in this memory and swim in its colors. I want to jar the scent of the water and the air, and store the sounds in a conch shell to retrieve whenever I see fit. I never want the sunset to end.

Terri splashed into the water as the sunset drew to a close. The remaining orange glow warmed her face, and I captured a photo that will never do her true beauty justice.

Hand in hand, we walked back to the car, Ollie tangling himself in his leash.

In ten short minutes, the memory making ended.

Where does one go from here?

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Megan is a writer, poet and visual artist. She lives with her cat son Felix in South Texas and enjoys tea, fuzzy blankets, most foods, and reading. Here, you can find bits and pieces of what she’s working on.

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