It was the tale end of summer and the days were still wonderfully warm. A walk along a popular trail in the dales and we stopped by a stream and some broken down ruins of a mill. We hadn’t passed anyone for a while and I was itching to try and get some naked outdoor photographs.
This wasn’t the time for tripods, timers and remotes and multiple repeats to get myself right. This was a quick strip off and hand my camera over to my husband. Showed him how to focus it and crossed my fingers. The rocks hard and sandpaper rough against my skin, the grass spiky to my feet, dried from the summers previous heat. I would have longed for more time and solitude here. For you to raise a sweat upon my pale skin, to have pressed me into the rocks, freeing me from more than just my clothes. For us to then cool off in the stream afterwards and laugh as the cold water stung but soothed our bodies.
We took a couple of quick images before he saw some people heading towards us on the path. I scrambled to get dressed again, giggling as we passed them a bit further down. My body warmth by the excitement as well as the sun.
Then my stomach dropping 10 mins later when I realised I didn’t have my watch or my glasses which I placed on a separate rock to my clothes. Running back to the spot, to see the fellow walkers also pausing in the same spot and not asking me anything as I grab my glasses and watch. At least it wasn’t my knickers.