THE SKY WAS BIG and blue and the swallows were violet-green. We were smoking on a boulder on top of the world, or so it seemed, getting too much sun, and the swallows were feeding in the skyspace around us, swerving and circling acrobatically.
I said, “Is it really 2:50?”
You said, “No, that watch isn’t working.”
“Oh, I didn’t think it was that late.”
You said, “It’s actually only 2:40.”
A violet-green swallow zoomed behind your head. You didn’t see it, but you heard it pierce the air.
“So it is that late.” I said. “I have no sense of time right now.”
You said, “I know. It’s like we’re in a dream.”