la isla

The wind on her neck, warm breeze and all emotions softening in the sun, their edges smoothed with 400 blows; all the histories (herstories, jackonories) of our lives wept in myriad hues through her body and she sunk to her knees in the sand, listening to the sea her arms reaching out on the tides brink, breathing in the shore, feeling the grains on her forehead and pressing her nose. She sighed deeply comforted by the senses.

"Are you Muslim?" he asked her.

The sand through her fingers tingled the base of her spine and she could hear it's silky rub through the ground where her forehead pressed.

Are you Muslim?" the voice repeated gently.

She looked round, not aware who he was or why he asked, puzzled, and then she realised he thought she was praying to mecca. She wondered to herself which way it lay.

"O, no," she said, and turned back into the sea.

wow

long time that i haven't posted on here.

here we go again. watching the producers. the new and revised version. bring back gene wilder is what i say.

o my. have 3 years nearly passed already?? not here. here, time does not exist!