Skinning Dipping

It rained two days and nights before we emerged from the tent and decided to speak. You’d think that close quarters would force us to acknowledge language, but Sam and I couldn’t. We’d said too many of the wrong things on the way to Mount Hood. I learned he’d been lying to me about the depth of his relationship with a coworker, and he learned how little I cared about the misstep. Sometimes the shock of information frees you.

When the sun climbed along the backs of the dripping cedars, we unzipped the tent. I saw the stream, cold and swollen, and I took everything off. You followed, and we spoke again through the rush of water.

Photo: Hermetic Hermit

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