We stood against the edge of the bridge. Let's sit, she said, and I shook my head. You need to face your fears, she said and I laughed. Not this one. I love the moon, she said. We all rest beneath it, and then, look at the sky, we live here. Look at the water, we live here. Our hands swept out beside us, willingly, unconsciously. We leaned on the moss and watched the sky mirror itself, blue here, peach here. On one side, a last emergence, and the other, surrender, surrender.

Green leaves, for split seconds, revealed golden strokes. And so the world burns. Across the water a boat ran in a single path. The wind sounded like a brush, sweeping across the whole of the world and pulling all colors into one. Everything bleeds into each other. I won't be here forever, I said, and she responded with a kind of understanding, I know - I knew that.

We talked about babies. A couple walked past holding hands. Look, and I pointed to the house behind us. The windows, the light - it's like a house on the lake, back home, I gestured, and did not have to say Minnesota. She smiled.

How do we perceive beauty? How do we speak to a God who seems silent? I don't feel anything, but I love him. We nodded we nodded we nodded. A kind of dance.