The light ran along the lime colored grass. She lay waiting for him, spread out like the carpeting of clover under her thighs, facing the sky. The day was soft and warm over her bare legs. The white silk sheath dress she wore no longer covered all of her, curves high and center left exposed and the pink lace fringe of little girl like panties.
She knew he was coming. Sometime. She needed him to fill the hollows left from her past--love lost.
Evening began to fall. The sky softened. Dripping like a watercolor painting, fresh on the paper, not yet dry, not yet set.
Peeking from between the folds of clover sprung patches of white blooms; weeds taking on a fancy air, dressed up for the coming of spring.
She sighed and rubbed her smooth palms over the ground, grabbing the white spurts and ripping them out. She rubbed the clumps of dusty white along the side of her face, she could feel the whispers of dew leaving tiny trains of moisture on her pink perfect skin.
She rubbed and waited.
Shadows rippled and morphed along the ground, changing like creatures in her childhood nights.
In the distance, on the other side of the hill, a group of dogs leaped at one another, mounting each other’s backs in fun and folly.
The beasts were closely watched by their human superiors; a group of couples and friends. People out for the end of the day before they returned to home, to dinner, to bed, to feel each other in the dark and lick the night away.
Spring wanted to be a couple again. She wanted to bathe with a man again, exploring, lapping, teasing needy parts. She wanted that decadence and so she waited. Hoping blindly, like love is, for the boy with the soft curls to come. To lie down beside her among the pollen and the weeds a-pretty.
She waited for him, for Fall, to lean in towards her. To collect her lips one at a time into his mouth, first the top, then the bottom; breathing her breath; sucking her in; and to tell her:
You, Spring, are beautiful.
Published in The Linnet's Wings Fall 2010