Rainbows and Nauticals and Body Water

The bliss of the weekend, for me, was not the color of the aspen leaves against the not-East-Coast blue sky. It was not the chill that lived in the air and made our bones tremble as we clutched hot coffee around the fire in the morning and talked about love. It was not the unbelievable satisfaction of peanut butter and jelly nor was it eating cheesy tortillas toasted over the fire. It was not even the cataclysmic roar of thunder on the top of a mountain or the icy bite of an alpine creek on the side of a beautiful trail.

It was 'guess the time' and the exquisite pleasure it brought to guess correctly- get fucked! It was gasping for breath in the tent over some delightfully imaginative conversation topics in a way I haven't done since eating cheese on college dorm room floors, in a time before pain and sickness and heartbreak had such big names in our worlds. It was chuckling nervously as we hurried down a path with a storm at our backs; grumbling pleasantly at the wait for our fries and mozz sticks as we re-emerged into civilization; sitting in the car while the rain bubbled and buzzed around us, then leaping out to greet the sky, dancing and singing and giggling in the middle of the campsite to pay tribute to our rainbow.