It's there, in the mountains; running through the tiny village, leaping, bounding over rocks as it makes its way downstream. The water is beautiful, with the sunlight flickering and reflecting like fire over the creek. It's cold as hell, and it freezes my toes the moment I touch them, but I don't care because a feeling of adrenaline is rushing through my bones, my blood, and I suspend this moment in time. She's there, next to me, honey curls tumbling down her shoulders as she leaps into the water, screams turning into bursts of her beautiful, wild laughter. Her hair looks like the river. A minnow swims by and leaps, silhouetted against the setting sun for a frozen moment. The island, just a few feet ahead, ripples with the wind as it tears through the grass and the trees. Everything is golden, her hair and the sky and the waves of the stream as the wind blows and sun falls into the earth and my soul is at peace.
The village in question is Fontaine-de-Vaucluse, in France, and this piece is about a girl that I met there and me jumping in the water during my summer trip to Europe.