We stand dwarfed by the dark umbrella of the sky.
We look into the depths of dark, seeing a handful of dreams scattered over the cosmos. We share them out; a dream for you and a dream for me.
With infinity above us, we will never run out of dreams.
“Whistle for me,” she said. Her head was resting against the close-mown grass and her eyes were absorbed in their study of the clouds.
“What?” he replied.
“Whistle a song for me,” Anita said. “Any song will do. But, whistle for me.” Her fingers idly plucked daisies and flicked them away to rest amongst the springy blades.
He said, “I don’t whistle. Ask me to do anything else.” He turned back to packing up the remains of the picnic, grimacing as the cream from an eclair attached itself to his finger.
She sighed, “It would mean so much. Just blow a little. Pucker your lips and blow.”
“Anita. Anita, I-“
His voice tailed off. There would be no reasoning with her now she had lost herself in the deep blue of the sky. People don’t listen to anything other than birdsong when they are riding on clouds. So, he made a tight hole between his curved lips and blew out an exasperated breath. A soggy note escaped.
She smiled and sat up. A finger turned his face to hers. Her eyes were now all his, scanning his face. He watched their amused darting for a moment, unsure as to whether to expect a rebuke or if he was going to be ridiculed.
“Your lips are all wrong,” she said. “Like this.”
She formed a tight circle using her own lips. His instant attempt to copy her with his own mouth took him by surprise. His mouth contorted into many different shapes, aware that her amusement was increasing in response to his hapless gurning.
Just as he thought he had the perfect circle and was preparing to blow, Anita leaned forward and stole their first kiss. He felt himself change. He was the wide, cool grass. He was the leaves crowning the tallest trees. He was the wisps of the clouds. He was the deepest blues of the sky.
He was everywhere. He was everything.
He was infinita.
Estuary Tales 