These Small Hours

The enormous expanse of blue above enveloped us in strong color. Sticky watermelon juice ran down on faces and through our fingers. We stood in the middle of nowhere. Goodness and mercy stood by our sides. The little one insisted on keeping his sweater on, even though it had to be above 75°.




We laughed and finished half of a watermelon. It was just us three - Dad, youngest brother, and me. Splashed cold water on our faces to erase the memory of the stickiness. Then chased each other with water bottles, making small puddles of mud in the dry dirt.

We climbed back into our small white car. Home was three hours behind us, and rest just four hours ahead. Dad started the car, and we drove on.

Time falls away, but these small hours,
These small hours still remain.