“Look at the little star shapes that the light and water make.”

“Look at the way the silt sparkles from the mica. I used to scratch around in the clay with other little kids looking for big chunks of it. It’s flaky like filo pastry.”

“Look at this.”

Plunk.

“Look at that bird landing on the water.”

“Cormorant.”

“How about this one.”

Plunk.

“No good.”

Plunk.

“Me neither.”

Plunk. Plunkplunk.

“We should plot South before the cold. My bones can’t take it. I think my bones have endured enough. I don’t want to abuse them after all the good they’ve done me.”

“They do a nice job, don’t they.”

“I’d say so. Yours too, it should be noted.”

Plunk plunk plunk.

“That one looked good.”

“I think it’s in the elbow.”

Plunk.

Plunk plunk. 

“I want you to know that I care about your bones, too. I don’t want to seem selfish when it comes to bones. And it occurs to me that I’ve never asked how your bones like the warm weather. And if they hate the warm weather then we can work something out. I don’t want you to just go along with what my bones want at the expense of your own bones.”

Plunk plunk.

Plunk.

Plunk plunk plunk. 

Plunk plunk plunk plunk plunk plunk plunk

plunk plunk plunk.

They watched the rings turn back into flat water, and the sun kissed their shoulders very very gently.