117: A day like any other

by Danny James

A shower broke overnight and has left a blanket of beaded gleam and Yellow Ginger flower across the face of things we used to sit on. The air, a capricious haze of coasting spray, adrift of fountains heavenly, carries along its light essence a most cleanly and gratifying fragrance as sinks the worries into a whelming and delicate evanesce.
Wonder may one what far off golden and glorious estate whence this lavish lees springs, – but all the reachable world at our toe tips is an open and bounteous garden in which to plunge the care riddled senses.

And how like me to receive this lap of blessings today, that with Her focused crayon signature, Nature in coy and animated loveliness offers.

How expensive the wisdom bejewels the merest events in our lives.

Who over my rudders reigns, I have gratitude for in spades, for where I think I am going appears a rather worthy destination, and would assuredly not, but for how I came; and he whom from the clay knot, by labours edge carved will be; may just be shaped in likeness of a decent fellow.

Looking on the world with travellers eyes (1), my dear aims sheer and impossibility befalls a frightful share, but soon after I’m glad, subsides. I have had some rehearsal through the years, cultivating the habit of disagreement, – believing in amazing things that seem encouragements to avoid, have no reasonable fitting place in possibilities orbit. There is not for much of my spent light I can relay with clearness and ongoing validity, but since I began calling more often on that little ember of wonderment, – flickers desperate in the recesses, giving it strength day by day, I’ll tell you, and for certain this; that though we can not disagree many may devastations approach us along the way; though we can not disagree, heavy is the task and long the course to bear it, that will most come to bear alone throughout, – and they carry best in solitude who will often sad and fearful prove; though we can not disagree, after all that, a great and final defeat lies waiting, and without repent will close all things forever, to end the story will few ever read. Yet for this plentiful and miserly lack, still, my friend disagree we MUST, and by the pale lamplight of unfettered and seeming illogical denial, try; through every single unthinkable step in our going, by our own hearts and whole, unaided of any or star, else perish in place, cold and mourning.

“…and what will you do for your birthday, it is raining out?” So enquired The American Girl.
“But see, I mean to let it rain,” I began. “I will watch it here awhile. I may also read a little, release my chaffing curiosities into the sky, to soar whither and perch on what they will. But certainly no more than that. It will be a day like any other, spent with love, in lovely things. Could what be more estimable?”

Somehow an invisible hook into place had glided all the during I spoke, and heaving lifted carefully, achingly supple lip flesh, – those sweet borders, desires plum and rest, through ye passed the most alluring discourse tonight, – into a precisely disarming smile, and that same meticulous breath, broke one rampant star of its cluster, exploding into the sky of her galaxy eyes. Leaning in utterly, American girl doused me in a terrible and instantaneous scare, breaching irreverently a long prepared order for such charmed address, then at last ashamed of my inflexibility, and feebly inauthentic in this pleasant and crystal souls luminous presence who sees no peril in the wings and acts on all her hearts ideas, bearing only the finest of rarefied human qualities, I have never seen folded as neat nor slipped into so cordial and inviting a form. Longing to bury myself in her warmth and snowing berry scent, shaken fresh with the stir of hands sliding softly forward to me, over her brown able thighs and hitch suddenly the smothering seduction at the shimmering smooth knee-surface, in lip biting coolness, palpably craved.

“I feared at first, your course impression,” with a fingers faint whisper along the surface of my bare, densely illustrated arm, overjoyed follicles and nerves to alien tenderness quicken. “But you smile like a sunlight through the tree tops, and the rain goes away.”

Abruptly a chasm in Nature.

Before this, I was busy minding my own life, when The Savagely Beautiful South American Girl locked tight my attention, perhaps by caring cruelly so little for any. A hair-trigger ensnarement of my faculties at first sight and sweet native note rolled from her dainty pink aerialist tongue, an ease and lean limbed finesse of lustful sorcery, reserved for fables endured of men formerly stoutly in content fallen to an amorous lot, still looking up on impact. Such a cleverly slender, fascination crafted here, flush of luxuriously chaste auburn silk immaculately curved to cleaving leopard eyes, far away escaped pitch of black with pearl of homely hazel swirls, into fall all secrets.
Invisible aisles glided with gazzelle-acuity, poised and wild, sofa bound flurried elegance, behold eyes a dancers apparition, graces the Earth but touches never, – choir of capable contours in fluid going and whirling awe of jet mane with backhand bright green tips brushing a waist for comfortable careful hands and being held high within, but this one her own bounds leaps, uncatchable.

I did however once corral a look, and the victory of it was so profound and terrifying I knew not with it what to do, – that consciously ambling while with, had lost the physical clutch, to the journal apparent in which, no doubts abound, that written about me, much less is penned than of thee, in mine.

I was managing my distresses and arriving begrudgingly at the rightful conclusions, when for the first time appeared The American Girl; sat herself in front of me, convivial and strong, pouring immediately sheen and convalesce. When she left, pulled me close and held as tightly as would embed deeper all the protective gems of well wishing were room enough to leave in the soil of me, for safe carriage all the rest of my days. I don’t recall being ever embraced so thoroughly fondly, and sunk aggressively into her precious tear salted nape my fervor warmed cheek, loving thoughts folded perfectly and hidden under the earlobe, like secrets you couldn’t say, naked in letters to read later, the long sad reminiscing ride home.

I held her hard, burying back in private, some of those gems she could not afford to give but gave darling the same. Dizzying scene, and perfume of skin zest and Summer mountain dirt whence I should have been, where vistas make angels eye lashes cease to flicker that now flutter against my brow, and crashing hips manoeuvre for closer grooves alerting early chemistries, teaming wanting tendencies. I invented thus a jest flew like a cool stream in the tropical heat, so she bellowed a laugh, sounded of a smile dancing like no somenabitch anywhere was watching, but startled heaven did look and sighed ’twere not so nice up there.

It turns out I like the people down here sometimes after all, and carry dear in my chest, a satchel of keepsake kisses with me throughout the world. Hitchhiker farewells are the worst, the warmest, and sincerest, making more temperate the cold hello of regular folk.

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