Whenever I think of my summer sweetheart, Desrae, I conjure a line from an old blues song: "She's gone but I don't worry, 'cause I'm sittin' on top of the world." Desrae's parted from me, but I'm forever grateful for our many idyllic summers that never failed to leave me feeling on top of the world.

Our rendezvous always began when trilliums shimmered across the forest floor. I'd phone the man who considered himself Desrae's "dad" to say, "I'm ready to deal with her all over again." Few could handle her temperament, her go-go-go attitude. Some wished to rein her in, but not me. I cherished Desrae's vivacious spirit.

While we trekked through Wisconsin's ever-changing nature, we developed a rhythm, our bodies moving as one. We ran through meadows, walked the Root River bank and romped in the puddle-filled swamps. We'd end up mud-covered, but did we care? Not Desrae and I. We reveled in earthy pleasures.

The trilliums disappeared when the weather warmed, and we thrilled at the arrival of delicate pine prairie phloxes and the Joe Pye weed that thrived on the riverbanks. Come midsummer, we delighted at the sight of bees and butterflies flitting between purple cone flowers and Brown-eyed Susans in the meadow.

I came to mourn the coming of cool autumn winds, knowing leaves falling from the trees marked the end of my weekly dalliances with Desrae. Throughout the winter, I'd pine for our soul cleansing sessions beneath summer's blue sky.

Last spring, when spring breezes again blew warm, I phoned Desrae's dad, only to receive sad news. After twenty-seven years on this earth, her life had come to an end.

I'm sure I'll mount others, but I doubt I'll find another as sweet and spirited as my first love with her type. I will forever treasure my time sitting on top of my gorgeous white Arabian mare, Desrae.

“Why not go, Aubre? You'll meet many new people, perhaps the man of your dreams.”

Aubre scowled. “You know I attend every year of counselors are the same,” she added flatly

Shaking her gray-haired head, her mother said nothing.

Packing, Aubre thought about past years at camp and her lack of beaus. Aubre was plain, her hair light brown and too curly. Her eyes were hazel and her skin freckled. Yes, plain, she thought. Although her friend, Gail, had taught her to apply makeup, Aubre didn't think it helped. Besides, she had little inclination to fuss with makeup.

Arriving at the Inter-city Boys and Girls Summer Camp, Aubre saw many familiar faces. Everyone greeted her warmly and she pitched in with the camp's routine.

In the middle of the first week, Aubre heard the single women gossiping about a man named Camden.

“Have you seen him, Aubre? Every one of us is vying for his attention. He's so handsome, and he has an executive job.”

Aubre just smiled, only half listening to their gossip. But when she finally saw Camden, she agreed. He was handsome, with dark, piercing eyes, high cheekbones, and broad shoulders. And woman would be proud to be his date, she thought. But he never looked her way.

Watching Camden when she knew he wasn't looking, Aubrey noticed he was athletic, quick to smile, and got along well with everyone. And the kids seemed to like him immensely.

One afternoon, Camden fell into step beside Aubrey and began to talk. She found talking with him comfortable.

“How about going to the movie in town on Saturday night?” he asked.

Aubre accepted, thinking several others would be going along. But when the women found out, they were envious. They confirmed they had not been asked to go. A couple said very unkind things to Aubre. Tears sprang into her eyes and she left quickly.

“Don't listen to them. They're jealous,” her friend, Joy, said. “Go have fun and enjoy his company. He's a great guy.”

So Aubre did, finding that she and Camden had much in common and enjoyed each other's company. That first date led to others. They talked and enjoyed several informal outings.

Before long, the month's end was near. Camp would be over! Would they see each other after camp? Aubre doubted it.

The last night, Camden took Aubre for a walk in the moonlight. “I've fallen in love with you, Aubre. I don't want to lose you. I'd like to ask you to be my wife.”

Stunned, Aubre stared at Camden. “Me? But I'm so plain…” Her voice trembled.

“Plain? Aubre, you're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful. I love you.”

Camden pulled a small box from his pants' pocket, opened it, and removed a ring. He slid it onto the third finger of her left hand. The diamond twinkled in the moonlight.

“Will you?”

“Oh, yes, Camden. Yes!”

“That makes me happy. You'll be a beautiful bride…my beautiful bride.”

Aubre's emotions soared. She'd never be “plain” Aubre any more. Not when Camden loved her.

On the island of Saint John, it is always summer. In sunlight, flowers painted in primary colors bloom everywhere, stirring lazily in warm ocean breezes. The nights are magic. Under a bright moon we walked barefoot to the beach. My new gold ring absorbed the moon's white light and warmed it, reflecting back a honey hued sparkle. My wife's diamond shot back tiny rainbow colored flashes. The night sky was pricked with stars. If paradise was ever lost, it is found again on that island.

We'd planned this for a long time. Earlier, our private wedding on the beach went as arranged. The minister, the witnesses, the photographer and a few applauding onlookers in their beachwear were the only ones in attendance. Now, we giggled our way back down to the water. We were married and the whole day had carried us on wings of fantasy.

Our plan was for a nighttime swim in only our skin. And should we lose sight of propriety in the warm water, we reasoned the darkness would hide us. We'd plotted with no need. The sky opened up with one of those flash tropical downpours so intense one might fear drowning standing on land. Having been in the water only briefly, we darted for the ocean's edge. I laughed to myself. Why are we running from rain when we are neck deep in water already?

We'd left our clothes and towels under the shelter of a palm but the rain had found its way into everything save for a tropical patterned shirt of mine that was mostly dry. I gave it to my new wife to wear but it mattered little. In seconds, it looked as though she was wearing nothing but flowery body paint. It was rather nice, actually.

We did make it back to our suite to find dry towels. We'd missed our swim. It did not matter. We were in the Garden of Eden and for the rest of that long night we had no interest in apples.