I curse as I step into a deep puddle. Water splashes up my leg. Walking in a park in the dark after heavy rain is a bad idea. I look around as Quinn tugs me to a halt. He lets go of my hand and picks up a sturdy twig from the path’s edge. I realise we’re standing next to a patch of mud beneath the branches of an oak tree. It explains why there’s no grass. Quinn crouches and uses the twig to make marks in the mud. I watch, captivated, as a picture takes shape before my eyes. The moonlight illuminates the peaks and troughs Quinn is creating in the mud. When he eventually stands and steps back, I forget how to breathe.
It’s a simple drawing yet unmistakably of me.
He grins. “When life gives you mud, create art.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and take two photos, with and without flash. Neither truly conveys how beautiful the drawing is. The one without the flash is too dark to see the entire picture. The one with the flash flattens the mud out and adds streaks of light.
Quinn looks over my shoulder as I flick between the two photos, satisfied with neither.
“It’s supposed to be transient,” he says quietly. “Not everything can be captured. You have to appreciate some things in the moment and then let go.” He nudges my elbow. “Like sex.”