Eve

The moon hung low, nearly full over the pines and reflecting over the quiet lake. We stepped carefully on the dark path and emerged on a small rock at the water's edge. Took all our clothes off and slipped into the warm water, midnight mist swaying softly across the mirrored surface. It was still light enough to see the house, a dark silhouette of the dog in the reeds, impatiently searching for unknown treasure. She swam out to greet us, nervous when we got too far and nipping at our fingers to pull us back, but we just laughed and swam further into the lake. Even as we gave up and climbed into our beds, the night outside was light and trickling through the trees; perhaps it was dawn. 

A great melancholy sinks itself into my gut. It refuses to explain itself, to reason with my questions. I have seen its dark treacle before, even in the midst of summer glory and the noisy chatter of friendships. It brings no good, offers no great revelation or meaning. There is merely the heavy sighs of days wasted and promises unfulfilled. I vow to make this time different, to fight the current before it pulls me under and I drown. 

We have been talking about offering you a proper position here, if you'd have it, she says. 

My stomach turns. This is my cue. It is time to pack the bags and make the change. It is time to go, before it goes without me. Before winter freezes the treacle to stone.