We both stand around, kicking the dust and gravel – tiny flowers of dust growing at the toes of our feet. I like your new sneakers, I say. You mutter something like thanks and look out over the canyon. “What do you want out of life?” you ask softly, your hair gently moving in the smooth air.
“Not much, really. Just a car and some horses. You?” I say. You nod.
“Yeah, that but I think I want some paper and pens too.”
“And maybe a clipboard so we can write on the road.”
“Yeah, and cheap coffee”
“And flowers”
“And apples”
“And Summer days”
“And apple Blossoms.”
“Yeah, I like the sound of summer and apple blossoms.” I say softly. You nod.
“I might want a house too.” you say, toeing the dust to form a pattern of circles and lines.
“Maybe. But I don’t think I want something too big.”
“Nah, me neither. Just want something small. The basics, you know? With a lot of windows and a lot of land. I want a teeny place and a whole lot of land.”
“Yeah. Me too. Land with wild things.”
“And birds”
“And horses.”
“And you.”
“Yeah. And you.”