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