#9: Love and Darkness

When I woke up the next morning, the campfire was still smoking. It didn’t take long to stir up enough embers to get a fire going to for breakfast. Soon, I was warm again, sitting next to the same fire that got us through the night before.

She woke up an hour or so after I did. She didn’t say anything, but stretched against the sky, then pulled the blanket around herself and sat down next to the fire. I hander her coffee, which wasn’t bad, even with the smoky taste.

She shook her head at the eggs I offered.

“We should go soon,” I said.

She nodded.

It was harder getting the tent back into the bag than it was getting it out. The world was warming up already, the desert was alive with activity.

“It was a long night,” she said. “There were noises all night long. I’m surprised I slept at all.”

The sunlight wasn’t right on her. I looked at her sitting in the canvas chair and missed the beauty that the moon and stars brought out of her eyes, her skin, her hair. Shadows wandered her skin the night before, projected by the campfire.

“The night wasn’t long enough,” I said.

“We have a lot of ground to cover today,” she says.

There’s a connection between the night and her beauty, I realize. At night, huddled close against the darkness, I don’t have to share; our hearts are the center of the world.

Related: #10: Love and Light

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