The afternoon air is already cooling by the time Cillian arrives to pick up Aramis, smelling even more of damp earth and wildflowers than usual; even still, he is suspiciously clean, not a speck of dirt on his well-worn linen pants, nor a grassy stain on his elbows.
He stays tight-lipped about their destination, as the drive begins, the radio tuned into WCC's student-ran radio station, playing quietly. His excitement is no less obvious, and, perhaps, a tad infectious, the man nattering on about this or that; nothing of consequence, but everything said with a heightened emotiveness betraying his eagerness.
Forty minutes directly out of town later, Cillian turns the aged vehicle onto an old farm property, one that has been left to fallow with clear purpose. Is this where he spends his time, when he's not at school?... Off the road, now, he takes the two of them down into a back paddock, past a treeline, and into a meadow.
There, sitting beneath a large, fragrant tree, on a small hillock overlooking the rest of the homestead, is a cozy little picnic site set up with a dozen-dozen sparkling solar lights, a thick, soft picnic blanket, and a half dozen cushions. A bouquet similar to the first Cillian had given Aramis awaits in a deep, green vase perched atop a large picnic basket.
Cillian looks anxiously to the horizon; the falling sun is behind them, rather than in-front, obscuring the sunset from view. But the sunset is not what Cillian had brought Aramis out to see.
As the two settle on the blanket, amongst the cushions, and the sun falls beneath the rim of the world behind them, Cillian excitedly points to the horizon they can see- where the fading light reveals the first hints of a bright, full moon, beginning to rise as the daylight fades.
"I knew I timed it right!"
@welliaslight
kianamaiart
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
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