I am not sure what the 'theme' is here,
but perhaps this will entice ...
Cory dropped her toe tentatively toward the rippling surface below. Concentration blocked out the shrill scolding of the Jays and echoing roar of the tiny rapids upstream, as memory returned of a childhood game long forgotten. Anticipation caused a shudder to raise a patch of goose bumps along her arching thigh; her slender foot straining for the instant of contact with the chill. The play of light dancing from the surface mingled deceptively with the shifting reflections from the granite boulders beneath the rushing stream. Quaking aspen whispered a warning of a ‘giant trout lurking below, intent on nibbling toes.’ She laughed aloud at this teasing jibe of her brother Paul – “Oh Paul, where are you now?”
A gray ghost of squirrel fled chatteringly through the brush at the sudden sound. With a flash of sadness, Cory plunged her foot and ankle through the surface, destroying her reverie and releasing a cry of shock and pleasure. The numbing cold did little to kill the disappointment over loss of control and judgment.
“It’s just like getting close to people,” she thought, “So close, so beautiful, so urgent; - - such yearning for close sharing. Then a careless response or a thoughtless remark mirrored as vulnerable surprise in expectant eyes -- all gone!"
An observer in the hidden glade might have guessed at tears but Cory laughingly brushed droplets of golden mist from her lashes and the tips of her long golden hair. Her lithe, tanned body rejoiced in the flickering sunlight; the tops of majestic pines swinging to the tune of an unsung melody. The figure Cory saw when sighting down her leg for another bout with will and water was just past ripened womanhood. Innocent curves added promise to a proud carriage. Life held suspended in the deep mountain canyon that few had ever troubled to explore. No moment in Cory’s quest for fulfillment combined such splendor, promise, and expectation as during this youthful game. She had returned to this spot more and more frequently in recent years.
The placid forest sounds gradually became more discordant. Twinkling lights from remembered waters became, as in a dream, flashing neon signs winking through holes in a threadbare curtain. Stringy, sandy hair framed a lined face staring vacantly at peeling paint on the ceiling. Pale moonlight seemed absorbed by the sickly pallor of flesh slowly turning to flab.
“Why can’t people see the girl inside?” thought Cory.
The tears were real!