Honeysuckle

Smells of honey and sweetness fill my nostrils. The air is thick and the stands are full.  Orange dirt is under my finger nails as I reach for the bush behind my brother’s baseball field.  I pinch at the long prism and pull it from the stem, racing to put my lips around it and suck the juices from the vine.  “mmmmm” as I feel my delight turn to sound for the outside world to hear from my chest to my throat up to the vibration of my mouth.  The quick rush of sweetness surges into my tastebuds as I look over into the grey and blue eyes of my childhood friend who is mirroring my every move. His eyebrows rise high on his forehead and creases are forming in his rosy cheeks as the corner of his mouth rise.  His hair is dark auburn and wet around his face.  A slight breeze sends the white and yellow buds whispering, beckoning to us, and the ting of the metal bat brings us back to reality.  Patrick’s puffy freckled wrists reach up to grab another thistle from the leaves, as the breeze sends my hair dancing to tickle the back of my neck. We reach for another.