The path from the cottage
to the seaside
is usually quiet
and solitary.

But today
a boy sits on the grass
watching me.

I start as a speck
getting larger in the distance
and I see him
a speck on the grass
morphing into a boy
sitting in the rain
waiting for my speck to pass.

I nod and say hello.
My voice too loud and sudden and coarse
in the stillness of the drizzle.

He nods and says good morning
quietly
as if to not disturb the llamas
standing in the fields

Did you know they hum when they are happy?
Do you hum when you are happy?

I want to ask
to spill out all the words welling and bubbling up
so many questions
but they stay bottled up
unable to escape the room inside
where they are kept safe
from embarrassment
from hurt
from closeness

It’s just the two of us on this island path

Two specks
one passing the other
on the line to nowhere

Will you be there when I return?

The question hangs strange
in the heavy air
as my speck disappears from your speck.