7/29/12
It was about 102 degrees Fahrenheit. The river bottom was parched, grasses rattling in a dusty wind. Both dogs scampered from shade to shade, whining like forgotten children until she and I caught up, hand in hand. Her cheeks were flushed as she asked about snakes: "do the babies bite too?" We rested near an ancient grape arbor, the wood faded to the same sandy brown as the grass, the dirt, our shoes. The heat was guiding us back, a hand on our shoulders. We were chased by rhinoceroses, dodged hot lava and inspected tarantula holes for possible pets. The sky was huge and cloudless, her hand still in mine. I will hold this day, this heat, her hand with me when pride begins to be larger than affection, when rhinoceroses live only in zoos and African plains.
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