Monet Moment There they were. Two hands intertwine into one. Seemingly blank stares accompany empty movement; subtlety that could only ever be read by one another. They are too close to feel a difference in where either of them end or begin, too small are their differences to be acknowledged. Slow slow shallow breathing, the earth itself heaving beneath them. Sweetly painted ethereal hues shifting across the sky. Twittering black dots circling in ever higher spirals with wings unfolding, stretched before them. The cautionary wind clumsily tripping and carrying itself across their still bodies. Clouds appear like water lilies, drifting across the vast expanse above. The moment is arranging itself too perfectly to register as more than a passing collection of sights and sounds and sensations. Two hands intertwine into one.