Breath

In the middle of adolescence I ran into the canyon, behind my house, climbing trees and feeling the wind as I played through the thigh-high grass at the bottom of the ravines. I paced through the creek, a thousand feet below the houses on the edge of the cliffs up there, alone and in the wide-open spaces.

At the cusp of puberty, I stripped off my clothes and layed on the ground, the wind breathing through my hair and across my young stiffening cock. The clouds and birds up above blew quietly by out of reach. No one could see me unless they really looked for me. They never did.

I explored my own nudity, feeling myself and getting hard in the sunny warm breath of summers. I looked down on the roads below cleaving through the canyon a hundred feet away, naked and spry on the crux of two branches in an oak tree, pants around my ankles. Invisible.