One Summer's Evening

Pinks, purples and oranges mix on the horizon as the sun begins to set, looking more brilliant than a master painting. The two race to the car and she wins, effectively calling dibs on driving. The key is turned in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life. Peeling out of the parking lot, she laughs and rolls down the windows, euphoric. In the passenger seat, he simply smiles his calm smile and turns on the radio.

She opts to take the back roads instead of the interstate, their desertedness encouragement to accelerate. The wind whips her long hair about her face, but she takes no heed, devoting her energy to belting along with the music blaring from the stereo. Their glances meet and her contagious grin prompts him to add his tenor with equal enthusiasm.

No feeling can quite match it. They are on top of the world, just the two of them. Cool wind blows in their faces, scented with honeysuckle and the promise of rain. It doesn't even matter what's on the radio; they sing with zeal, whether they know the words or not, making up lyrics when necessary.

It's grown quite dark now and as they pass a vast pasture, she stops, suddenly, and kills the engine. Only by the glow of the almost-full moon can he see her raise her arm and point. All across the field, tiny pinpricks of light fade in and out. Thousands upon thousands of fireflies illuminate the night, more beautiful than the most extravagant Christmas displays. It's like magic and a nostalgia for childhood fairy-tales sweeps over them both. Thunder rolls in the distance, but neither makes a movement to leave.

In the silence, her hand finds his and when their fingers twine together, they know contentment. And in the moment that he pulls her out to dance in the field of fireflies, they know joy.