butterflies under sweet water

The air was warm and heavy, the smell of summer was blowing through the open windows as we drove.

The car seat was still warm as we left it, parked under the sun.

Sweet, cold ice cream melted and fell into the cobblestone street as we watched the shimmering lake down below. The tiny stone bridge in the distance felt sort of like a portal. The kids jumped into the water as the church bells rang far away, joining the sound of laughter and cicadas. The golden light painted their bodies as the cool lake water welcomed them.

After a little while, hands shaking, we made our way through the damp, dark tunnel. We counted down too many times, getting to zero, but not being able to jump. Hearts skipping, and hands sweating, we watched as kids showed us how easy it was.

È facile! I show you. Tre, due, uno. Splash. Now you.

We jumped into the portal and took with us the butterflies that were stuck in our stomachs. The lake felt different than the sea.

The butterflies in my stomach flew away with the first big breath after the long way up through the sweet blue water.

Sitting on the moss-filled slippery stairs, we watched as kids continued to jump from the bridge. Time passed slowly. The sun was starting to go over the mountains, the sky painted blue.

We were sitting down, bare feet on damp stone. We were quietly listening to a group of young boys. The slice of pizza we had brought from the village bakery was rubbery and cold. From the painted blue sky, two little orange duck feet joined ours on the warm stone. We could just watch as the big white fluffy duck stomped around us, mouth open, tail shaking from side to side, sparkling eyes surrounded by a vivid red. The duck would not stop following us, its little eyes locked on our pizza slices. We did not want to be bitten by a duck on our first day.

We handed over a piece of our cold, rubbery pizza to the group of boys.

As the sun set and the slow waves crashed on the stone, a group of young boys taught the duck a few tricks with a piece of our cold, rubbery pizza.

The air was colder and everything was tinted blue. We could still hear the sound of laughter, the hum of the water, and the now less frequent jumps from the bridge as we walked back through the damp, mossy stone.

On film. Just before we jumped in.