We walk under a scorching sun next to the river. He is my guide, twenty years younger than I. Yet every time he speaks – I blush. His voice is soft. I barely hear him above the river's song. I move in closer to hear his stories of this ancient Indian Oasis. I see the delicacy of his fingers pointing to the flowers. As we climb the rocks I watch the muscles of his calves flex. The heat has my head spinning and the rapid waters my heart racing.
fingers reach into the green