Our adventure; we clambered from the car then
From the bottom of the hill, soft and flat to the summit, pouring
Across the sun-bleached slopes, white claw; we were tossed
By the clutching wind.
Dragging blooms to our cheeks, it swirled us from edge to tottering edge; clinging together as we
Glided on tendril wings throwing us, at once,
Far apart and closer than ever.
Later on we would recount this story, in cosy kitchens or
Huddled with friends, sipping sweet tea to reclaim the
Thrill that still pumps through our veins. They will laugh as we describe the dreadful
Noise, the way our hair flew everywhere and how the
Youngest nearly tumbled from the cliff. But they will never
See it as we did, see it clearly: that image of us on a hill, already
Muddied by the dusty tracks we left and our happy cries
As we walked away.