On the pavement ahead a woman was spreading out a red cloth, wet from washing. She crouched beside the material, waiting for it to dry in the hot sun. Suddenly she cried out a torrent of words - addressed to noone in particular,
Her black dress hung loosely on her naked body. Her small breasts were visible, petite, well formed, dark pretty nipples. I surmised she had never suckled a baby.
Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she had been abused by the men who had been part of her life. Maybe she was a lost soul seeking to hold herself together as the sun came up and dried her washing and warmed her body. Maybe this was the only warmth she knew.
I wanted to take her in my arms, to feel her warm body against my own, to touch its muscular leanness, to taste its smooth clean flesh. Maybe she could satisfy my own stirrings. My mind raced in a fantasy of sweet clinging, kissing, opening, thrusting - an overflowing of feelings, a deep-felt relief, a draining of emotions.
It could not be. I walked on. I felt the heat of the sun, the stir of the morning breeze against my face.
A big stork on a massive round rock shook its wings, dropped its shit and launched across the lake.
As always is the case with your work; the prose is nearly more illustrative than the photo!
ReplyDeleteLove it :)