Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Jo Lauer
Dyer's Bay, Ontario, Canada. Strains of Bach waft on the morning breeze. I laze in the hammock stretched parallel to the ripples from the lake. The air so still I imagine I hear the sound of the Monarch's wings as it darts among the purple, yellow, and red wildflowers. Fir boughs overhang the deck and drip cones like Christmas ornaments.
The subtle opulence of Villa Luce, the lighthouse, on the water's edge, surrounds me like a cocoon. Your lover has created this Eden for you. She has invited me here. Touches of color, splashes of raspberry, a hint of sea-breeze green, patches of terra cotta--treats for the slow, roaming eye to rest upon, these are the gifts she woos you with, gifts I cannot give you.
Giant paper irises in the antique creamery can, bloom behind the rounded back of a honey colored rattan chair. Art books and copies of Saveur, Bon Appetite, and Costal Living lie about at well-placed angles, beckoning the passerby to sit, relax, browse. Time and reality are suspended here.
Sunset. The sun is peach and fire as it is pulled toward the water. You sit, pensive, on the hard, cold outcropping of gray rock.
I fit my body behind you and lean into your broad back, lie my head against your neck. My hands gently cup your shoulders as my fingers find their way under the warmth of your collar. The bay water, diffused with sunset, laps hypnotically.
"I wonder sometimes," you say sadly, "how it might have been."
"Ah," I say, without commitment. I smile, and nuzzle a kiss behind the velvet lobe of your ear.
The yearning for you moves something deep inside me. Restraint. No longer mine. Unrequited desire.
My hand rests on the warmth of your thigh as we drive in silence back to your lover who awaits us.
Oh, how I miss you.
Jo Lauer, 812A Spring Street, Santa Rosa, CA 95404 Jo has not given up her day job as a psychotherapist in Sonoma County at the sage suggestion of her muse, a stuffed raven named Loudly.
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