there are things here that you can walk on

we stumbled into a restaurant before hitting the beach in case things closed, stuffed into a simple and crowded bar with a neatly creative menu and the heat and humidity coming in through the single door and emanating off the grill behind the bar. we talked about all the things that looked good but kept it simple with drinks and pasta and an appetizer they were out of, making a mental note to come back for the mac and cheese or burgers or something. the rain came. we sat and looked, me over my shoulder, as trees whipped left to right as the gusts rolled in off the lake, rain pouring down, visibility rendered to almost nothing, people running for cover. after holding hands and laughing and smiling and food we walked. down the main street and towards and pier and then suddenly the skies opened up and it wasn't just rain it was hail, solid pebbles of ice enough to break skin and sting and burn, my towel over her neck a worthless gesture. the seam in the front of my right shoe where the soul has come undone spewing bubbles as the weight of every step pushed the water in the instep upwards and outwards through any crevasse it could find. in the shelter of a marina whose bathrooms smell and were soaked with water and urine we waited until the hail relented. the 92 degrees had given way to 75, and we held hands walking to the beach, walking on the wet sand and then realizing that might be more work than the warm sidewalk, avoiding the pebbles that would pick at our feet at every opportunity. at a picnic table she sang songs with the theme of water and we watched families and friends take group photos and even I sang albeit poorly. we eventually made our way in, 4 foot waves and red flag warning and all, the violent thrust of water pushing us back and side to side, bracing ourselves every time one approached. we laughed at how the water itself tried to strip us to our skin, the water was as warm as the great lake ever gets, we stood and jumped and splashed until my fingers became prunes. and somehow, the storms and hail and rain and wind managed to dissipate enough so that the clouds dispersed and the yellow and orange and red hues of the sunset blasted out forth on the late summer evening, turning everything the very shade of the nearest star. we walked back to the car smoking a cigarette and getting our lips sweet and the breeze tore at our hats and towels like it did earlier. the night drive was full of singing and endless fireflies illuminating the sides of the 2 lane highway almost as if natasha pulley had dreamed up the scenario herself, countless, reoccurring flares as far as the eye could see. in the distance the storms that had rolled through illuminated the sky with lightning that illuminated the clouds enough to make out their intimidating, ungainly shape. everything about life was perfect in that moment.