the georgia night is softer than a whisper
we tiptoe in the moonlight
our bare feet warm against the boards of the dock
the glistening water is dark and shiny
tanna doesn't really say, more like breathes "dark water"
and we giggle as we clasp our hands together and squeeze
the boats rocking in the water is a comforting sound
as we stand in the night air.
in the darkness, the only illumination
is that of the lightning bugs floating around us.
we are tempted to catch a few, but then remember
the task at hand.
she challenges me
"you jump first"
i feel my way to the edge with my foot
and stand unabashed on a cusp
with my pajamas fluttering in the summer breeze.
i swallow my fear and dive into the unknown
the splash echoes and then fades.
my surfacing breath punctuates the stillness
and tanna, still whispering, squeaks "that was so awesome"
once i convince her that the water isn't cold,
we begin our work
diving down to the floor, we scoop up
handfuls of clay and bring it to the surface.
red, blood red, georgia clay
our hands and clothes will be stained, no doubt.
when we have enough,
i lift my body back onto the dock
and pull her up over the edge.
with her, i am 10 yrs. old again and we are
sisters in every sense of the word.
the molding ensues and my fingers
in the clay soothes my soul.
sculpting and forming takes time,
but time is all we have.
the artistic tango
lasts through the night
and as the sun washes morning light on us,
we scurry back inside, lest we be discovered.
and we lie in bed, with the smell
of the water and clay dried into our skin
listening ever so closely to hear the
squeals of delight from the kids next door
as they discover
our offering of peace.