The clouds wreath the mountains. They look like golden butter on the peaks. The dirty Supsa, brown with snowmelt, curls around my ankles. I can hear about ten different species of bird and ten million different frogs. Smooth stones blanket the riverbanks. I spend a few minutes tossing them into the river. The trees riot in green in lavender. It smells fresh.
I’ve just come back from a run. The sun’s been out all day, so I had decided to walk as far as I could towards the mountains, and then run back. Perfect weather the whole way. I’ve passed my house and passed the highway and gone all the way to the river. My sandals lie beside me on the banks. It’s hot outside and cold underwater.
As I walk back, Jemali (my student, not my dad) rides his bike beside me and asks me all about the girls I like. We dodge cow poop and watch plastic bottles float down the stream towards larger clots of garbage. He dismounts and hisses at a few cows, which saunter away from us. He refuses to tell me who he likes, so I threaten him with telling random sixth graders he’s in love with them. Or in love with cows.