Cherry pits floating in the river

--Inspired by a day boating on the Willamette River in Portland, Oregon, with the loveliest of friends--

I threw cherry pits in the river, tossed the stems in too. Eating three or four bright red fruits at a time, I piled up the pits in my right palm. Placed them right in the center. If I'd made a fist, bright red cherry juice would've squished onto the forgotten skin between my fingers. I kept my palm wide open. I threw the cherry pits into the river, tossed the stems in too. I watched as they half sank, half floated, hanging beneath the green-blue surface. Suspended in the ether of the Willamette River.

I saw two fish jump that day. Slim silver bodies clamoring for sunlight. Swimming among the cherry pits, stems, spf 30, and crumbs of fig-olive crackers. Swimming among the purplish seaweed strands, bankside debris, and other scaly creatures.

It had been years since I'd been boating like this. A Saturday summer afternoon. Letting my skin melt in the sun, taking that warmth as something divine. Jumping into the green-blue water, letting myself stay in the womb of the river for a few moments. Quiet. Dark. Calm. I feel my hair twirl into tendrils around me, let my limbs go limp and mind go quiet. I kick my way back to the surface, watch a fish fly, and brush past a cherry pit. We all refuse to get sucked into the mire.

A dark orange chip clip is left in a cupholder, yellow sunglasses, and white sunscreen rubbed on shoulders and cheeks. Green-blue water rippling as we speed by. Little brown pits with bright red cherry residue, silver scales and eyes. Green toenail polish like spring unearthing, dark coffee in a dark flask. A rainbow assortment of towels and music that feels like cotton candy blue, pink and purple.

Laughter as we trail the boat on wakeboards and surfboards, carving in the white foam. Flying. Falling. Free.

Of all the colors, sunset pink is my favorite. We watch the sun sink as the last of us takes a turn playing in the wake. We hear the engine roar, "Kings of Summer" cycles again through the playlist, the underlying sound of chips dipped in chipotle hummus and munched. The sky blushes pink, orange, dark. It is the time of day suspended between light and leaving, a final kiss, a fleeting. It is the color of cherry cleaving to a pit left to dilute, dissolve, to again become a part of nature, a part of the body of the river.