She sat with her feet half trailing in the water, half sliding through the motions of walking. We knew that the flowers in her hair would die soon; shrivel and wilt under the gentle heat; but we enjoyed their tiny forms as they were woven through her curls.
Today is hot. Droplets of water come showering down over us, falling through the air, gliding from the top of the waterfall. Somehow, as we wade though the shallow edges of the pool, the heat no longer matters.
I call her Lilly. We don’t know why. Lilly is not her name. It just fits her, like the flowers decorating her hair. And this white light, bathing us and soaking into our skin after melting with the cool water, this white light holds us together and in this moment.
There is something mystic about drenching yourself in a pool surrounded by nothing but sky and red earth. About weaving desert flowers through hair. About having someone’s hand clasped in yours as you float in a pool fed by the slow fall of a waterfall. About laying there, suspended in a sundress floating around you, rippling against the fabric of a friends. About finding somewhere where nothing matters except the now. Where the earth is ruler and the sky commands.
Short. clearly :)
A little different.
bast on memories of traveling when i was young and the demands of my muse to write myself into a better place.