| |
You stand on the porch unaware of the woman you are, the woman in quandary, the woman from whom you must step away and look for through a gray gauntlet of fog that blinds you to the direction and the distance, the earth and it’s volatile mood swings.
It’s almost a certainty that it will rain wherever you may go; the rain you dread having to dash into, dressed as you are in your shiny black boots and raincoat, toting an umbrella that you trust to spring up and protect you.
How casually you had chosen it from among the jungle prints, the arc of rainbow colors, the royal plaids. Unlikely that one would better protect you against the rain darting in at angles, piercing your bare skin like sharp pine needles, or the one strong wind you do not expect, leaving you to wonder just how much exposure you are risking beneath that fragility.
Joanne Monte
|
|
User Rating: |
|
9.0
/10 (2 votes) |
|
|
|