The beginning of a story…
Her temperament changed with the temperature of the water. He rinsed laundry she showered. He sold tomatoes, she bathed. He fed the dogs, she swam in the ocean, her breasts raising the smooth surface of the water up down up, with every stroke of her tanned arms. The now late summer sun had been caressing those arms daily as she kicked off the rocky shore towards the island. It always seemed to kiss her with the most passion before noon brought the heat of the day. She was always hottest in the morning.
She couldn’t remember when she began taking herself to that rocky shore, or why. Was it to warm up, after the spring had left her bones – and her interest in him had chilled? Or was it in the summer, to refresh herself after waking up in a sweat, jumping in to have droplets of sweat mix with salty waves lucky enough to touch her? She didn’t remember but she knows now.
She jumps in, pushes off, braves the jellyfish and fishermen with small boats and big voices, to reach the island. For every temperature her blood brings the island matches it: stormy if she’s mad, drizzling when she’s morose, deep violet sky when shes feeling macabre. The island compliments her, welcoming her with slight grazes of leaves and beds of gentle mosses, and she goes on emoting, waving her hair or flicking the buds off flowers. The island loves her, she knows that. The way they make love makes the grass on the ground tremble. The birds flock out of thin branched trees, startled, and then sneak back again. Because its too good to miss.
<The underwater city is a very sexy place. There’s more to come in this story…>
Aimee Louw 