On his back, he says, "That cloud looks like a mother cat and her kitten."
She blocks the sun with her flattened hand. "It looks like she’s suffocating it."
"Your hands, they’re falling all over me," she complains, tensing her body and shifting away from him.
He withdraws. "Have some more cherries," he offers, shaking the small basket.
"My stomach is turning."
He tosses the cherries over his head.
"You’re too close to me."
He slides further to his left, the kept-down grass springing slowly back to life between them, and mutters, "And oh, here comes the attitude."
"But I’m not even mad at you."
"Can I complicate your breathing?" he begs, studying her cherry-stained lips, her pale exposed neck.
"S’mother time," she mumbles, disappearing into the trees.