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The rock was obviously out of place–probably left there by a glacier thousands of years ago. It was the only granite rock in Jackson township that I was aware of. Dad once told me he thought the rock must have been special to native Americans, because we’d found numerous arrowheads and some pottery shards near it. A couple hundred yards from the road, the granite rock was in a secluded glen where the creek made a sweeping horseshoe bend. In the center of the horseshoe was a wildflower-filled meadow. Queen Anne’s Lace, Brown-Eyed Susans, and Chicory all vied to put on the best flower show. There was a limestone cliff nearly forty feet high on the opposite side of the creek from the granite rock. The cliff was covered with moss and a few scrub trees grew out at crazy angles. After a heavy rain, water would dribble out of limestone rock layers into the creek, making bubbles that drifted downstream. Sarah and I hadn’t visited the granite rock in several years. It brought back memories–we. I've felt I could tell you anything, and you've told me much, too. We've shared, and as our relationship has grown, we've come to love each other. In a way, I've felt that love was inevitable between us, and I've not been disappointed.At our table, we talked, we laughed, we swapped stories and opinions, we did all the fun things we do together on the phone. Remember how that started with us? We traded phone numbers in our e-mails, and then we called. We were acquaintances. We became friends. It wasn't long before we knew that we loved each other. It has only been a short time, you know, and yet it seems like we've loved each other all our lives.We kept drinking our coffee. We were all alone, together, and every second was better than the one before. We could see each other. We could say anything we wanted to, and no one could hear us. No one interrupted us. No waitress came by to refill our cups, but they never got empty. After a while, we talked about that, wondering.
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