"That's a painting," she said, pointing straight ahead.
The sun had set, leaving a trail of fluorescent blue fire in its stead--an electric shock that rippled across the lake. The black shape of a boat, solitary and wandering in circles, could be seen from where they were standing.
All they had was his camera phone, but that wouldn't do--the intensity was too subtle, too brilliant, too wonderful to be captured for eternity. So they stood on the dock, and she tried to commit the scene to memory.
Hours later, she can still smell the rain in the air. She can still feel the dampness in her bones, the shivering in her fingers, the taste of orange smoothie on her lips. She can remember hoping her hair wasn't too frizzy and that her cheeks weren't too red or too shiny. She remembered that he stood right next to her--his hair was a little frizzy but that was okay, because it wrapped around his forehead like black petals and she wondered if, maybe, possibly, he really was some type of ancient deity, born from earth and fire--a spirit sent to protect all of nature.
She wondered if she should consider converting.