Saturday, 2 August 2014

Stone 1

Two of a kind, the birds fluttered in the tamarind tree, disturbing the sultry afternoon. The sky, low and filled with tattoos of clouds, hung like a vale of cumulus cloth, jewelled and almost ominous.
The dandelion clocks shimmered in the field like feathers, puffy and silver, their parts dispersing like rockets, disentangling, disengaging.
Soon the storm would shatter the quiet brooding of the late afternoon. Stone would find himself sheltering under a tree no doubt, as he had lingered on the heath too long. His mask of indifference to the weather could never slip, his resilience to such vagaries of climate a cause of much teasing with his fellow migrant workers.
The joy of lying undisturbed amidst the rosebay willow herbs, with kind birds singing to him was as an aphrodisiac. His weary musculature eased like a baby’s bottom, and his frantic mind calmed as the blowing dandelion mountain flowed past his prone body.
This vale, like a partner to his brain, brings him respite and joy.

The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Rule

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