She came out in the wash, stumbling on the rocks, blinking in the sun. There was no one to see her. Putting a hand up high she searched the sky against the sun, squinting in the glare, pushed back her hair, and almost turned.
But only almost.
It was dark back there. She remembered that. She was coming out to the warmth.
The river was all gone, the stones were all dry, their heat against her feet, she took more steps. Someone should have been there. He should have been where she could see the outline of him, a darker gold ahead in the blaze, music personified in the haze.
She could still hear the music of him, the song of him, the love of him, just ahead. It was in the glare. The stones burnt her feet and she faltered.
There was supposed to be a road here, a ribbon winding back across the plain, following a river and finding a bridge. But the river was gone and the wash was warm. There should have been rain.
There was supposed to be love.
It was while she stood there trying to see that it fell apart. Still and silent, trying to remember how to see, she made no sound. He couldn't hear her. He lost his sense of her, lost his trust of her.
He was the one who turned.
She was the one snatched back.
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But only almost.
It was dark back there. She remembered that. She was coming out to the warmth.
The river was all gone, the stones were all dry, their heat against her feet, she took more steps. Someone should have been there. He should have been where she could see the outline of him, a darker gold ahead in the blaze, music personified in the haze.
She could still hear the music of him, the song of him, the love of him, just ahead. It was in the glare. The stones burnt her feet and she faltered.
There was supposed to be a road here, a ribbon winding back across the plain, following a river and finding a bridge. But the river was gone and the wash was warm. There should have been rain.
There was supposed to be love.
It was while she stood there trying to see that it fell apart. Still and silent, trying to remember how to see, she made no sound. He couldn't hear her. He lost his sense of her, lost his trust of her.
He was the one who turned.
She was the one snatched back.
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"Eurydice" copyright by Morva Shepley 2009
http://morvahouse.blogspot.com
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