This was the life they should be living, always...

They whipped through invigorating sprays of salt and bolts of wind in the morning Washed Denim sky, themselves streaks of White Baby Corn Blonde and Candy Apple Brunette. This was their last Blueberry morning together on the island and they were ferry bound to make the most of it.

The near empty boat docked and rocked against the coast as the two windswept sisters debarked. There was a world to explore; a Jurassic Park of jellyfish and sand crabs.

Tall wisps of beach grass blew east- natural arrows pointing toward a narrow boardwalk. They followed the cerused serpentine path over hill and dune, deep into a forest that seemed to duplicate itself with every Olivine unveiling. In a fairytale, bread crumbs could've given them a reverse option but the path continued to split and force fast venturesome decisions. Forward motion brought them to breathtaking rays of Sable Glittered Sand.

They ran as fast as they could to the Twinkling Turquoise Tide. There before them was galaxy of Vanilla Clam Shells- a sea of Sparkling Brides before them. Running endlessly picking them up they made haphazard stacks against their chests. Before Beauty could fully set in, thusly came the Beast. From nowhere- a fiercely shaken Etch-a-Sketch, a Coal Blackboard spread cross the sky broken by White Chalk zips of lightening. Two girls gathered the last of the shells and ran between Diamond Teardrops of Rain on wet Pancake Batter sand.

They ran to the dock but had not made it in time for the ferry which stoutly sped away toward the other coast under Ashen watch.

What luck! An ice cream stand!

Under cover of Red Seersucker awning they sat listening to the pitter patter of iced summer rain, enjoying icy scoops of Pistachio and Cookie Dough, waiting for the storm to pass and the boat return.

Summer is an Eternal Pearlescent Childhood,

A Treasury of Shells,

and all in the details.

Golden Butterfly

She needed some magic the most now. There she was; a New Yorker in this unfamiliar state she had dustily dismissed years ago as 'Middle America'. The isolation and emptiness of the farmscape heartily mocked her current mental and emotional muddle. Thank goodness it was the last day there- sitting across the table from her one time, all times, future time past and present ex.

The one who once gave her butterflies that now felt like sparrows.

It had been a week of neither here-nor-there, of watching the pale and muted Rusty Red Sun dive down into the cracked ground from her hotel window alone. He in his own.

Yes, she needed that magic now- just a sign.

They made it JUST in time to Atlanta- and by just in time, the bare skin of your carry-on, time enough to become a track star and make it sweating to your gate- with our without wearing the original shoes you modeled on Plane One.

They were separated there, like the parting of book from spine; of yours from mine. The week had ended, no Golden clarity, more Greysome clouds.

"I need to get on this plane," she tried on a lark at the gate. It was his plane. A surprisingly helpful ticket clerk click clacked and printed a boarding pass. And a full plane left only one open seat.

Eyes locked. Brown eyes that had always known each other anciently, full of ancient pain. The flight was long, pretty wordless.

"I almost forgot," reaching into his pocket as they touched down, "I found this on the tram to the gate... Here."

He handed her a Golden Filigreed Butterfly.

She had her sign. The tears ran down her face. He could never truly understand its significance- that her Papoo promised to watch over her in butterfly-form, that she prayed to find a gold charm to remind her to always believe in her dreams, that she lived and died a little on the hope of their love rekindled- no he could only see Opalescent tears.

Their love grew from that day, Gilded, Golden, Free as a Filigreed Wing and Prayer.

And though they did not make it to the end, he gave her butterflies once again.

"Stand in front of that sign, it looks like you," she said changing the settings on her camera to night, soft flash.

The girl took a fun pose in front of the green sign with the rainbow stars. It was some sort of ad for a bakery, or at least that's what her French told her.

It was so much colder than she had planned and her woolen green pea coat and knit rainbow striped gloves was barely enough to hold the heat of her body. Chocolat Chaud was in order.

She was probably the most colorful thing in Paris; everyone in their chic winter grey or black. She was a peacock with her feathers splayed, shimmering in the City of Lights. And now it started snowing.

Flash. Pose. Flash. Smile. Laughing. They ran underground to the safety of the Metro, covered in powdered sugar.

The snow melted from her hair, the coldness of that winter thawed, her life changed, her boyfriends changed, her desire for hot chocolate lessened...

But that picture remained; forever reminding her of how she believed in love that could light the sky, her boundaryless dreams, and the way the stars of another city made her beautiful.