Uwe returned to his oak tree. He didn’t say I told you so . He didn’t need to.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing, just where the pine needles gave way to the soft grass of the naturist zone. He was perhaps thirty, lean, with the pale complexion of someone who spent his days in an office. He clutched a rolled-up towel like a shield, and a pair of swim trunks bulged from his backpack’s side pocket—still dry. Sonnenfreunde Magazine 2021
“We’re all walking exhibits of our own lives,” Uwe said quietly. “The sun doesn’t judge. It only warms.” Uwe returned to his oak tree
Uwe raised his coffee cup in a silent toast. A man stood at the edge of the
A crunch of dry leaves, a pause, then another crunch. Uwe opened one eye.
A long silence. A finch sang. A child laughed from the water.