Charred letter fragments wafted into the tree canopy. Good riddance.
Vee smeared the ash residue on her hips while waiting for the outdoor shower to warm. She stepped in as a cloudburst spattered the wood deck. Cool rain mingled with scalding water. Never good at finding a happy medium, the truth was the torture of contrasts made her feel alive. Like ash on pale skin. Wrong and right.
Was this right – “You will love again the stranger who was yourself”? Could this sparkling stranger beaded with water be her? Maybe?
The shower erased the ash smudges.
Cattle and wind shushed through purple loosestrife and between clouds the sun winked at her. Cows’ lowing harmonized with grasses stroking their hides as they ambled to the adjacent field. She stretched out on the deck, sky-scoured, tuned in to their hymn.
“Hi. Nice to meet you, stranger.”
Written in response to a prompt from dVerse to use a line from a Derek Walcott poem called Love after Love. The line is “You will love again the stranger who was yourself.”