There’s something disconcerting about this moment, about being suspended in his honey bourbon gaze, about being still when we’re both supposed to be in motion. I’m not quite sure what he’s doing, or why he isn’t moving, so I take a halted step back, and only then does he take one forward. I take another one, stepping to the right a little to use a long, leafy branch to obscure his view of my body. And he advances, shifting his body to the left to see past it.
