Sultry early afternoon in the PACNW and it’s still with the turbidity of the atmosphere in silent consummation giving rise to the thunderstorms that have not yet risen, and I’m drawn back to Northern Virginia that hot August when we’d take my Coleman canoe on the Potomac above Great Falls, and she in her teal one piece bathing suit that rides high on each of her hips and her back is to me as we paddle the canoe further upstream and I see the mist of sweat on her shoulders and upper back and how her taunt muscles move under her bronze skin with each paddle, and I never want this to end.