The vibrant washes of pinks, purples, oranges, of a forest fire season sunset. The ocean surface still and reflecting and refracting all of the colours.

The Douglas fir and big leaf maples. The swordferns, the deer ferns, the bracken.

He holds the limb of the fallen alder tree steady while I use my saw to cut the wood.

He looks at me intently, and when I meet his eyes I have to look away.

We sit together at the beach until well after sunset, talking things through. The spaces that we fill inside of each other. The brightness and lightness that is created when we are together. We talk carefully, so very carefully, and I have to resist creating a story where there are gaps.

What is a relationship? What is a trespass? How can I care about you in one way but not in another?

On another evening, Russell and I cycle over to an outdoor dance. A jazz trio set up in an urban brick-lined square. I wear a polka dot dress, and he wears a new, bright blue shirt, and we dance together, laughing and moving together in a familiar way. After, we cycle to our favourite place for dinner, plates of pasta served on a patio surrounded by ivy and petunias, birdsong all around us at sundown.

Will I eventually run out of capacity for this, for loving?