I sit watching a young man work to impress a pretty young girl in a sundress, while they both sit slightly carefree in a world that is, although enjoying itself and its people, struggling.

White rubber booted, with fish hooks clasped behind him in both hands, the young boy drags a cooler full of fresh, locally harvested shrimp. He lobs a smirk filled remark to the young girl over his right shoulder, both of them basking in adolescent early-summer flirtation, the giddy feeling brought on by longer days, later nights and warmer breezes.

They are the spring turning into summer.

Her hair curled by saltwater and skin tanned by sun, her dress is pretty but almost gets in the way of how pretty she is. His young body toned by a summer job, clothes dirtied by hard, carefree labor.

A pilot for the local harbor told me earlier that the local fishing industry is hanging by a thread. Remembering this, I see the snapshot of youth encapsulated by reality.

He’s young, he smiles, he works.

She’s young, she smiles, she sits and watches him work.

They playfully give each other a hard time.

Verbal thorns on rose-filled intentions.

Hopefully the garden they’re in will last.